


Harry Potter - Boy-Who-Was-Homeless

by Wyrmraker



Series: Harry Potter - World Traveller [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Tomb Raider (Video Games)
Genre: Angry Harry Potter, Goblins are Bankers, Independent Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:55:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 122,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23478094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wyrmraker/pseuds/Wyrmraker
Summary: Now homeless following his third year, Harry has to get his affairs in order to be self-supporting.  One thing leads to another, and...
Series: Harry Potter - World Traveller [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689067
Comments: 308
Kudos: 976





	1. Where it begins

Harry Potter sighed as he pulled his trunk along outside of King's Cross station. He was certain that, between Dumbledore and the Minister, things had been cleared up and straightened out following his ballooning of Marge Dursley and his stay at the Leaky Cauldron the previous summer. A phone call using the last of his muggle change resulted in Vernon telling Harry that he was a freak, monster, abomination, and should have been aborted upon conception.

So instead of going 'home' to his 'loving relatives', he was now stuck in central London at ten at night, drenched from the pissing down rain, and Harry was walking the just under two miles to Charing Cross to try and get a room at the Leaky Cauldron.

Then he paused, ducking under a storefront awning. Looking around, he took in his surroundings with an eye practiced from avoiding Dudley and his gang in elementary school.

Cloud cover, underlit by light pollution. Few cars or pedestrians, mostly just black cabs loitering where customers would soon be crawling from pub to pub. A few people hiding under awnings, mostly college kids on summer break.

Harry groaned as he performed a mental inventory. He had one of the best brooms in the world, an invisibility cloak, a wand, and a shrinking charm. The only issue was the potential of the trace, and he knew from school scuttlebutt that if he performed a spell within a wizarding area, it wouldn't even go off.

And then he slapped his forehead. Still looking around, he cracked open his trunk, pulled out a notebook and a pen, jotted down a short message, and uncovered Hedwig's cage.

"Hey girl," Harry soothing called to the poor, upset owl. The rain cover over the cage had made it echo something fierce, and she was in a foul mood, both from the cage and the noise. "Could you please take this to Tom at the Leaky Cauldron? It should be about a mile away." Hedwig looked at her owner, turned her head to glare at the water sluicing off the awning, then turned back, giving Harry a look that seemed to say, "Seriously?"

Harry smiled at her gently. "Look, it's just to the Cauldron. The letter will ask Tom to send someone to get me, and we can get a room again. You know, like last summer."

Hedwig seemed to consider this. Then she nodded, snatched up the short note, and took wing through the streets of London.

Sitting down on his trunk, Harry waited, reflecting over his last couple of years. A not-quite-dead Dark Lord (twice!), a FUCKING BASILISK, a moron gloryhound Defense teacher (now in St. Mungo's), dementors nearly eating his soul, and finally his godfather on the run from a pack of morons in the Ministry who probably couldn't find their own asses unless they had a proper amount of bribery, instruction, and public approval to do so.

Now in a proper mood to consider all of the angles (and not having had much opportunity for introspection in the past), he had to admit that life in the Magical World was good, bad, wierd, and fucking terrifying. On one hand, magic was awesome. There seemed to be a limitless amount of things that could be accomplished by waving a bit of wood around in a certain pattern.

On the other hand, the Ministry was corrupt to the point of uselessness, justice seemed available only to the highest bidder, and pureblood society was over a century behind in it's views on life in general. Even Dumbledore seemed to have lost a substantial chunk of his personal shine, having been unable to keep Hagrid out of Azkaban purely on the order of Fudge, setting a trap for Voldemort in a school full of children, and (apparently) not being able to prevent the Ministry from endangering an entire generation of magical school children with dementors in his role as High Warlock.

His mind now in a full wander, he pondered his friends. The Weasleys were, for the most part, alright. Percy was an officious twit, but the man certainly knew how to work the system. Ginny was alright. Sure, she was a Boy-Who-Lived fangirl, but she was shy, sweet, and once a person got her mind away off of her crush, viciously tomboyish in a fun way. The twins were a riot, but thoroughly capable of amazing things, as Harry had witnessed on the few times he'd gone up to their dorms to talk with them and accidentally glanced at their notes. He had to wonder how much more amazing they'd be with a properly decent Potions professor.

On the other hand, there was Mrs. Weasley, known to be ridiculously overbearing and suffocatingly protective of her children (and Harry, by some extension he had yet to identify). Percy once exclaimed that she was smothering because of the loss of much of her family during the war against Voldemort, her brothers in specific, and that was why she began mother-henning almost anyone. At least that was what Percy clamed his father explained it as. Notorious for her howlers (a particularly nasty method of publicly bawling out your children, if anyone had bothered to ask Harry), famous for her cooking and hospitality, Molly Weasley was someone that Harry would have to consider for a while.

Then there was Ron. Lazy, bottomless stomach, amazing at chess, naturally good at strategic thinking, absolute quidditch fan (go Cannons!), and somehow did very well in his grades, for all the lack of studying. His treatment of Hermione had been setting Harry's teeth on edge for some time now, but at least Harry was self-aware enough to know that he had a very lonely childhood, and would be loathe to be rid of the first friend his own age he had ever made.

That train of thought seemed like a nasty pit full of traps, so he careened his thoughts over to his friend Hermione.

Screamingly intelligent, blisteringly talented, overbearing, bossy, officious, unceasingly driven to learn everything the Hogwarts library had to offer, but had a bit of a tough time on the more esoterically teachable things. Harry tended to beat her learning the more practical spells, whereas Hermione had an easier time almost osmotically absorbing the spells rigidly described in the school books.

Harry blinked and frowned as his thoughts diverged. Pettigrew owed him a life debt for saving him from Sirius and Lupin (even though Harry was planning on turning him over to the Ministry, where he would almost assuredly get the Dementor's Kiss). If that was the case, wouldn't Ginny owe him one as well for saving her from Riddle and the basilisk? Hermione probably wouldn't from the troll, as they had saved each others' lives multiple times in a six hour period not two weeks prior, so it would probably all balance out.

"Hey, sweetie. You okay? It's kind of late for someone your age to be out."

Harry blinked, snapping his mind back to reality to see a young woman dressed like, well, his uncle would call her a 'common street whore, probably riddled with diseases'. Whereas Dudley would just drool at the sheer amount of cleavage and thigh on display.

"Yes, miss," Harry replied. "I'm waiting on a friend to pick me up. I got off the train at King's Cross, and didn't know it was raining before I tried to walk to Charing Cross Road."

The woman smiled. "Yeah, I been there. Waiting on other people's schedule is a pain, but it happens. You stay safe, okay?"

"Sure thing miss. Have a good night," Harry replied as the woman began wandering away.

Keeping his eyes out, rather than inwards, he casually watched as the woman approached a man in a suit, money was exchanged, and she latched onto his arm as he led her to a high priced car.

'Huh. Maybe Vernon knew what he was talking about', Harry mused, even as an older model Land Rover pulled into the parking spot in front of the shop awning.

An elderly man stepped out of the car, and with a clear scottish accent said, "You Harry Potter?" Harry nodded, even as he palmed his wand. "Good. I'm Angus Grimaldi. Tom sent me to bring you to the Leaky."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied as he hopped off his trunk and rolled it towards the back of the car. Grimaldi popped it open, and Harry managed to wrestle it in before simply diving in to get out of the rain.

The driver chuckled at that. "Thanks for saving the upholstery, Mr. Potter. I'm Conrad Roth, and you've met Grim already."

"Pleasure to meet you sir, and thanks for coming to get me. I know most wizards don't have cars, so this is a relief."

Both men laughed at that. At Harry's confused expression, Roth explained, "We're not wizards, lad. Grim is a squib, and I'm magically aware; My sister graduated Beauxbatons in '84."

"Oh. Um, okay. Well, thanks anyways."

A few minutes later, Roth pulled the car into a lot a half block away from the Cauldron. They excorted Harry into the ancient tavern, Roth muttering, "Never could get used to something just bloody appearing."

Warmth and delicious smells almost bowled Harry over as he entered his home the previous summer. Walking directly up to the bar (and cringing slightly at the wanted poster portraying a deranged Sirius Black on the wall), he said, "Evening Tom. Thanks for sending those two to come and get me."

"You are very welcome, Mr. Potter. What with Black still on the loose, I figured t'was for the best."

Tom missed it, but Roth spotted the tiny eye twitch on Harry's face at that. "Well, after last summer, my relatives are still kind of angry. I was hoping to rent a room for a little while, like last year."

Tom's face fell at that. "Sorry lad, but I can't let a room to a minor. Last year the Minister authorized the room, but unless a guardian of some sort lets me, I can't let you have a room for more'n a night."

Harry's shoulders slumped at that, then shrugged. "Just tonight then, please. I'll figure something out in the morning." Money changed hands, and Harry was handed a key. Roth picked up the end of Harry's trunk, helping him get it up the stairs.

Harry sat down in the cair, looking around. Then he looked at Roth. "Thanks again for picking me up."

"It's no problem," Roth replied. "We were here anyway, and our business in the Alley isn't quite done. I like to think it more of a brief cooling off period, where all the parties take a moment to catch their breaths."

"If you don't mind me asking, what are you in the Alley for?"

Roth sighed, leaning against the wall as he sorted out what he could and couldn't tell a thirteen year old boy. The kid was polite, clearly a bit out of sorts with his arrangements, but seemed sharp-eyed and attentive.

"Tell me, have you ever heard of a show called Whitman's World?" Harry nodded. The archaeology program was highly rated; Hermione's parents taped the episodes for her to catch up on when she came back from school. "Well, Whitman has lost his funding for the show. Corporate types have pulled the plug on it. So he's gathered up what he has left and is gambling it all on one last archaeology dig in the Far East. He hired me and my crew because I used to work for Richard Croft before his passing.

"Even though he has coughed up what he's got, it won't be enough for a site dig. Hell, it'll barely be enough for the voyage there and back in fuel and food, much less wages. So Grim and I are here, trying to get someone on the other side of the fence to sponsor us in exchange for a cut of the prestige. Whitman doesn't like it, but he just doesn't have the money to be able to solo this."

Before Harry could reply, Grim poked his head in the door. "Potter, fast question. What was your mother's maiden name? Nobody downstairs remembers what it was."

Harry blinked at the seeming non-sequitur. "Evans. Lily Evans."

Grim smirked. "Thought as much. Roth, this is Richard Evans' grandson. His girl Lily married a Potter, you remember?"

Roth's head turned, his mind chewing on some information he'd not thought of in well over a decade. "Huh. That right, lad?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Aunt Petunia said her parents passed away while she was still in school; never mentioned anything about them, not even their names."

"That's odd," Grim muttered. "Anyways, Richard Evans worked a lot with Richard Croft; Richard was one of his grant writers. Used to call 'em 'The Two Dicks'. I'll tell ya, that man could get money out of a dead politician for a dig. Was a professor at Cambridge teaching anthropology before he got married. Then he taught kids their A-Level history while writing grant applications on the weekends. We think his wife demanded he move to Cokeworth; God only knows why anyone would want to live in that hole."

"Huh. That's really interesting," Harry mused aloud.

"At any rate," Roth stated as he shouldered himself off the wall, "we'd best be going. We'll be around most of tomorrowif you want a few more stories of your grandad."

"Thank you, I'd really appreciate it. Nobody seems to know anything about my parents, or maybe they're just not wanting to talk."

"Possibly not wanting to speak ill of the dead, if my cousin's tales are right," Grim offered. "Your dad was a right terror in his school days, and hid behind his little group calling their actions 'pranks'. Your mum was a sweetheart, even as a bratty four year old. So we'll be 'round tomorrow, lad. See you then."

After the men left, Harry remained sitting in the chair, considering more of what had been left out of his life story.

******  
The next morning, Harry awoke with the sun; years of behavioral conditioning at Durzkaban made a lot of habits nearly impossible to break.

(Not many people were aware that for his first couple of weeks at Hogwarts, he almost had several nervous breakdowns from not being required or allowed to cook.)

After grabbing a quick shower, he did his quidditch stretches, dressed, fed Hedwig, shrank down his trunk, and had breakfast downstairs.

As he chewed his bacon (and fed Hedwig even more), his brain began to spool back up to the speed it was on the street. Half-formed thoughts flared and faded in his mind as he had thoughts of Hermione (awfully cute, now that he noticed), the Weasley twins (hmm, a Master-Level potions book for Christmas for them?), and even Pansy Parkinson (just what WAS her thing about Malfoy? Is anyone that sycophantically attached at the hip at thirteen?). The only bit he continually shied away from were thoughts of Ron.

After the third cup of tea, the conversation from the night before began popping up. Shifting his head from side to side, he considered his lack of knowledge of his parents, and the more extreme lack of knowledge of his ancestry. This was particulary startling, as the Potters were considered an old pureblood family. As anyone listening to Draco Malfoy could attest, every respectable pureblood should be able to rattle off no less than five generations of ancestry in their sleep; Draco had proved that he could do exactly that during a lunch in first year, and then a dozen other Slytherins did the same.

Finishing his breakfast, he went into the Alley, looking around interestingly at the many sights and sounds.

After an hour, he felt a bit robbed; everything was almost exactly the same as it was the previous summer. Fortescue had two new flavors, the Junk Shop had new broken and second-hand items (what purpose unbalaced scales had was beyond Harry's understanding), and that was about it.

Harry had to wonder just what force kept Wizarding Britan soldily in the Victorian era as he meandered towards the bank. Was it the society? The old money? Politics? Magics that nobody spoke of outside of the family?

The familiar rhyme on the doors of the bank was comforting in a way that spoke of stability in the face of the world's trials. Harry stood in line for a few minutes before getting to the teller.

"Good morning, sir. I don't have an appointment, but I'd like to speak with someone about my account, please."

The goblin blinked, slightly startled at a wizard being polite to him. "Name and key?"

"Harry Potter, sir, and here's my key."

The teller set the key on a scale, then nodded. "Follow Slipshard," he replied, handing Harry back the key as he gestured at another goblin.

Harry was silently led through a back doorway, into a hall that was plainly decorated, and lit with magical globes slung from the ceiling. The doors were plain wood, and the entire place looked like the bank office halls he'd managed to see in various movies.

The goblin stopped to open a door, gesturing for Harry to enter. Then the goblin sat down at the desk within.

"Be seated, Mr. Potter," he began. As Harry seated himself, he continued, "I am Slipshard, general account auditor for the bank. How may I assist you."

Harry blinked at that, then mentally shrugged. There were all manner of reasons for an auditor to be at the front of the bank, most of which were perfectly normal.

"I was hoping to get a breakdown of my vault, sir. Three years ago I re-entered the magical world, discovered I had a mysterious pile of gold in a bank I'd never heard of in a section of London I never knew existed. Listening around at school, I occasionally hear purebloods talking about their old money, investments, and so on, so I was wondering about my own account."

Slipshard nodded at that. "Quite insightful for one of your years, Mr. Potter. Given the passing of your parents, there wasn't anyone who could bring you here while you were growing up? Your legal guardians, for example?"

Harry snorted at that. "Sir, the Dursley's strive to be the most normal, average muggles who ever achieved middle class. They despise magic in all it's forms, and especially the magical world and it's 'freakish' traditions."

Slipshard frowned at that. "I see. I wonder who placed you there, and why."

"No idea, sir. As for the why, well, the war had just ended, so I always figured that whoever put me there did it to place me with the closest blood relative, my mother's sister."

"Odd, very odd, Mister Potter. Given the... Interrelations of pureblood families, there would be no end of extant blood relations to the Potters. I'm unaware of the Evans side, but they may well have had family wherever they came from.

"At any rate, clearly you have more than two brain cells to rub together if you're here, so we'll get on with that. Here," he said as a ledger materialized on the desk, "are the account details for your vaults. Let me see," he murmured, flipping open the relatively thin tome, "here we are. Vault 687, unsealed trust vault, rewards, and general licensing receiving. Current value is 327,412 Galleons, 7 sickles, 12 knuts, plus unsorted but non-dangerous odds and ends for storage."

"Odds and ends? Licensing?"

"You don't... Hm. So you said, Mister Potter," Slipshard stated uncertainly. "I'll run you through the basics. The money is in standard coinage, plus various larger pieces that would be classified as 'jewelry'; I believe some muggles would refer to it as 'bling', given how tacky it looks. Rewards include the bounty for the Dark Lord, issued November 17, 1981, for 100,000 Galleons, plus various monetary gifts. General licensing includes the standard 7% licensing percentage for Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, and the percentage from the 'Harry Potter, Boy Hero' books and merchandise line which is rated at... sixty-five percent of the gross?! How did..."

"I may not have a head for business," Harry interrupted, "But my uncle is in sales at a drill company. And I _know_ that that figure can't be right."

"I would agree with you, except that that's what the ledger is telling me," Slipshard ground out. "At any rate, Mister Potter, your trust vault has quite a bit of money in it, as is accruing more nearly by the day. Your 'Boy Hero' series is extremely popular, and had a massive surge in sales when you started Hogwarts. I remember the lines outside of the toy shop," he smirkingly added at Harry's sudden grimace of distaste.

"Now, for the Potter main vault, that would be vault 704. Monetary contents include 3,741,603 galleons, 2 sickles and 3 knuts. Also contains various jewels, weapons, and, well, it would be considered bling if not for the age of the pieces. There are a few old, locked trunks down there, as well as a micro-vault reserved for the family head, contents unknown. That is all."

"Huh. Okay, that's a lot of money that I... have? Do I have access to it?"

"That is a solid 'maybe', Mister Potter. Given that you are underage, normally you would have to wait until your seventeenth birthday before being able to access the main vault without parental consent. However given that you are the last of your line, we will have to look into the legal requirements for access.

"But for now, you have over 300,000 galleons that you can directly access. That's over seven million pounds, Mister Potter," he replied at Harry's blatant look of confusion. "In short, you are ridiculously loaded for a teenager."

"How the hell did I never know about that?" Harry mumbled. "Does... I know that muggle banks mail out account statements every month; does Gringott's do that?"

"We do, Mister Potter, but it's a yearly owl mailing. That you have never gotten yours... and your guardians are staunchly against magic... hmmm. I'll make a note to look into that. If you aren't getting your statements, we'll need to do something about that on our end. If it happens to one customer, there may well be others.

"Any further questions?"

Harry blinked, his mind racing. That he was rich wasn't quite registering; the numbers were just too big. Then other thoughts began percolating up.

"Not that directly involve my accounts," he slowly began. "Would you be willing to give some advice on things not directly related to my account, sir?"

An eyebrow quirked at that. "Depends on the questions, but feel free to ask. So far this unscheduled meeting has been quite provocative, so I'm feeling generous."

"Alright, let me see... Where would I go to get a list of the Potter properties? House, grounds, all that sort of thing?"

"I... hm. Interesting question. I suppose that your best option would be to go to the Ministry's tax office. Keeping track of real property has always been their job."

Harry fished out a ball point pen and a small pad of paper. Jotting it down, he continued with, "Good, good. Next question, is there any way to verify someone's genetic legacy with magic?"

Slipshard blinked at that. "You're going to have to explain that one, young man."

Harry rubbed at his face, trying to keep from going full stream-of-consciousness on the auditor. "Two things brought this up. First is that nearly every pureblood at school can recite from memory their ancestors for some ten generations back. I know my parent's names, but grandfather? Great aunt? Cousin's nephew's bastard squib son-in-law's mistress? I don't know any of that, sir."

"Ah, I see. Yes, I see where you're going with this. The other thing?"

"It was something that the vault cart operator said when I first came to Gringott's. He said something like, 'There are many vaults here gone dark, young man. Much gold sitting there, collecting dust rather than interest.' Given that there have been two massive wizarding wars in under fifty years, plus the rise in muggleborns, would it be possible that I, or even some of the muggleborns, would be descended from someone they never knew existed? Like, a muggleborn could be the great-great grandaughter from a squib who got chucked from an old pureblood family, and the known members got wiped out during Grindelwald's stuff?"

Slipshard blinked at that, then smiled a grin that, on any other species, would be considered evil and sadistic. "Mister Potter, that is an amazing idea. Tell me, what do you want for that for us to be able to use it?"

"I'm... sorry? I don't understand, sir."

"Young man, this idea of yours has such a massive potential for profit that it would be highly criminal not to get something like that up and running. But by our bylaws, as well as the Treaty of 1842, no concept submitted by a wizard can simply be implemented. The idea must be negotiated over so that Gringott's cannot be accused of intellectual theft."

Harry's mind whirled at the potential consequences of that. His trust was was in the upper 600s, and the system ran far, far deeper than he could see whenever he'd been on the cart. In theory, there could easily be hundreds of thousands of vaults down there, any number of them locked up tight waiting for a family member to claim it.

"I think...," Harry began, his head slowly moving back and forth, "I think that if you can get it up and running, and it'd have to be Gringotts because I'm a wizard with only three years of training, that I would get tested for free, and any unlocked vaults... I assume that there'd be some sort of fee for this kind of procedure?"

"There would be, Mister Potter. We would likely go with a percentage of the vault, say five percent."

"Alright, so for licensing the idea, how about a half a percent of every vault opened due to this kind of heritage test? Bank the idea of quantity instead of quality? Let the idea prove it's own worth?"

"Good idea, young man," Sharpshard replied, jotting down notes. "Yes, that could easily be workable."

"In addition, offer the test without risk to all muggleborns. As an honest gamble, if they come up tagged to a vault, great. If not, cut the loss, no cry of foul. After all, this will only stimulate the economy by freeing up money that has already been minted, yeah?"

Slipshard cackled at that. "You are very correct on that count. Not only will it stimulate the economy, but it'll definitely shake up the upper crust of your society. I'll get with legal on this right away; we should have a contract ready for signing within a couple of days. Where are you staying?"

Harry's brain locked up at the sudden change of subject; in the glee of percolating a fresh idea, he'd entirely forgotten the actual reason for being at Gringott's. "Uh, nowhere right now," he stated, reddening slightly in embarrassment. "Because of some accidental magic last summer, my uncle threw me out. I stayed in the Leaky last night, but Tom said he couldn't allow more than one night without some legal figure vouching for me."

"Hm. Not productive. Where are your things?"

"In my school trunk. I have it shrunk down in my pocket."

"Good, good. I recommend you grab some money and hit the Ministry. The Potters were old money but generally lived modestly. That hovel in Godric's Hollow was certainly not the family home."

"Godric's Hollow? What's that, sir?"

Slipshard blinked, then frowned. "You... were never told of this?"

"No, sir. How does it apply?"

Slipshard snarled, then reigned in his anger at the boy before him looking like he was about to dive for cover. "The cottage at Godric's Hollow is where your parents faced down the Dark Lord for the last time. It's where they died, and where you got your scar."

"Oh," Harry replied quietly. His mouth moved, but no words came out for several seconds. "Why didn't anyone tell me? What else aren't they telling me?" he continued, his voice gaining anger. "What else are they keeping from me?" he demanded at the ceiling.

"I don't know, Mister Potter. Truly I don't. What I do know is that you potentially have options. First, the Ministry. See what taxable properties are on record; you may be able to crash there while immediate matters are settled. Second, when you get that done, come back and we should have word from legal on your potential entry to the Potter main vault. After that, I believe solutions will present themselves. But one step at a time, yes?"

"Yeah, yes, of course. Thank you, Mister Slipshard. I really appreciate all that you've done for me today."

"In all honesty, this has been quite an eye-opening day, Mister Potter. Unlike most wizards I have to deal with, you have been polite, courteous, and quite practically creative.

"Get yourself sorted, young man. We'll be here; just ask for me by name at the counter."

Harry was escorted back to the lobby, his mind reeling with what the forty minute meeting had revealed. Sitting on one of the benches, he let his brain slow down enough to keep from having another anxiety attack (those exercises that the nurse in gradeschool taught him were a godsend at times).

Finally able to calmly leave the bank, he peered around, spotting a beat auror who was more than happy to give him floo direction to the Ministry.


	2. A Word to the Wise

Fifteen minutes (and a stop at the Leaky Cauldron to use Tom's floo) later, he rocketed out of a marble fireplace, sliding to a stop at the base of a massive gold statue. Groaning, he slowly got to his feet. Gathering his bearings, he headed towards what looked to be a security desk.

Once his wand was registered (and ignoring the guard's awed expression), he walked through the doorway, looking around for some sort of directions. Knowing in the muggle world, government building were required to post what was on each floor; somehow, Harry was both disappointed and unsurprised at the lack of such a common sense item.

"Excuse me ma'am," he said to an older witch dressed in plum robes, "do you know where the tax offices are?"

"Why would someone as young as yourself want the tax offices?" the witch asked, bemusement softening the harsh lines of her face.

"Ah, I'm trying to find my family's properties. Gringotts told me that the tax office would be the best place to start."

"I see," she replied, taking in the boy's appearance with a practiced eye. Not tall, probably twelve or thirteen, messy black hair, round spectacles, eyes the color of the killing curse...

Her eye flicked, catching the bottom of a jagged scar on his forehead. Now she knew who he was.

"Level seven, young man."

"Thank you, ma'am. I had hoped there would be signs posted, like in muggle government buildings, but..."

"But the wizarding world does things differently, even if it would make more sense," she chuckled out. "Amelia Bones, Director of Magical Law Enforcement," she said, thrusting out her hand.

"Harry Potter, ma'am," he replied, gripping her hand firmly, shaking it once before letting go.

"I believe you know my niece, Susan? She's in your year."

Harry's face blanked for a moment before his mind popped up the information. "Yeah, we've met. House divisions tend to make things kind of tough to get to know people from other houses. I think it's dumb, but supposedly 'a thousand years of tradition' disagrees with me."

Amelia laughed at that. "Yes, things were much the same when I was in school. May I walk you to the tax office?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to interrupt you, ma'am. I mean, you're a... police comissioner? I think that's the equivalent term."

"Since I command aurors nation wide, the accurate term is Chief Constable. The comissioner runs the London Metropolitan Police Force."

"Ah, right, got it. Anyways, you probably have shed-tons of paperwork to get done, aurors to yell at, that sort of thing."

She laughed at that. "Ah, but you see, the wonders of being at the top means that I get to delegate a lot of that out. Most of what I do is deal with trials in the Wizengamot, as well as keeping the politics out of my offices. Please, let me show you down to Accounting, and you can tell me about how Hogwarts is these days. Susan won't tell me much, but I'm just the 'stodgy old aunt' who won't understand when her neice finds a boy 'dreamy'."

Ten minutes later, Amelia Bones was reeling internally. The things that the Potter boy had told her! Excerpts were flying around in her mind, and it had all started with, "So, being the head of Law Enforcement, you probably know more about my second year than I do."

"What do you mean?"

"Something like a half a dozen muggleborn students, a ghost, and a cat petrified? The Chamber of Secrets got opened?"

She had him start at the beginning, and got more than she bargained for. Being a nosy old auror, she truly could not help but make little prompts to keep the boy's commentary running.

"...thought it was Snape trying to kill me, but it was Quirrell."

"A ten foot tall cerberus in a hallway! If any dog needed to go for a walk it was _that_ one!"

"...Voldemort's face on the back of Quirrell's head like wood mold on a log..."

"...burned him to freaking _ash_ , and all Dumbledore said was that he was _already dead_! Seriously, how does that even work?!"

"Mrs. Norris, hanging from a torch bracket, and Malfoy is there screaming that 'All the mudbloods were going to die!' and nobody did anything? What the hell?"

"Turned out the deranged house elf, Dobby, was the one who got my arm broken trying to get me sent home. And then they bring in Colin Creevey while I'm in the hospital wing, and the next day everyone's calling _me_ the Heir of Slytherin? Are they brain damaged?!"

"Okay, I'll admit that is was damn funny how Fred and George were going ahead of me shouting 'Make way for the new Dark Lord!' If I hadn't been dealing with all that crap, I probably would've laughed. Need to write them an apology for that..."

"AND THE DAMN THING WAS THE SIZE OF A BUS! Honestly, I'm amazed that _all_ of my underwear didn't spontaneously turn brown from outright fear. So in comes Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, with the Sorting Hat. How he knew I was down there, I'll never know, and the Hat dropping the Sword of Gryffindor onto my head damn near gave me a concussion, but..."

"A dementor was _ON THE DAMN TRAIN_! Seriously? What, was Sirius disguising himself as a firstie?"

"...five hundred feet up, and suddenly I'm hearing my mum begging Voldemort not to kill me as dementors swarmed the quidditch pitch. It was a morning game, so I _know_ it wasn't someone's damn tea break!"

"... and then Professor Lupin comes screaming into the room, Hermione and I are all 'What the actual _fuck_ is going on here?', they suddenly are bro-hugging and then POP! Ron's rat turns into a fat, balding guy! Who admitted to being Peter Pettigrew and blowing up those muggles! So we're making our way out, and did you know that Hogwarts has, like a half a dozen secret tunnels out? Anyways..."

"So after breaking pretty much every rule on time-space manipulation, and holy crap I should not have said that out loud without a lawyer present, I end up driving away something like two hundred dementors with my Patronus charm. Then we flew Buckbeak up to the school and let Sirius out to fly away on the hippogriff, and holy shit I did it again! Um, is it too late to lawyer up now, ma'am?"

The sudden quiet in the hallway on Level 7 shook Amelia out of her amazed awe. That the boy had been through so much in only three years was...

Shaking her head a little to clear the musing, she locked her eyes with Harry's. "Please let me try to distill this for accuracy, Mr. Potter. You-Know-Who is now some sort of spirit, and was in your school attached to the back of the defense teacher's head, a teacher who was drinking unicorn blood, all while trying to steal the Sorcerer's Stone." Harry nodded at that. "The next year, a number of students are petrified, the Chamber of Secrets was opened, and you had to kill a basilisk and a memory of You-Know-Who in a diary. And that the house elf trying to keep you away from all this was owned by Lucius Malfoy." Another nod. "And this last school year you discovered that Peter Pettigrew is alive, was hiding in the Weasley house as an animagus, Sirius Black recieved no trial, and the Ministry has limited control over it's dementors."

"I think those are the heaviest points, ma'am," Harry verified. "There are a lot of fiddly bits of detail in there, but that's about all of the big bits."

Amealia sighed internally. On one hand, this was going to lead to all of the paperwork. On the other hand, if she could verify some of this, it might mean limiting some of Albus' seeming views on Hogwarts being treated as his 'personal fiefdom'.

Then she frowned. "Hm. Odd that Susan never owled me about any of this."

Harry shrugged. "Dunno, ma'am. We have different circles of friends, so I couldn't say. So, just how much trouble am I in?"

Amelia blinked, and then smirked slightly. "Not a lot, Mr. Potter. However, later you and I are going to have to sit down and discuss the fiddly particulars."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied meekly, a far cry from his angry ranting not two minutes prior. "And I want to apologize for dumping all that on you. I really didn't mean for that to happen," he continued, looking down. 

Then his head raised as he felt Amelia's hand on his shoulder. Her now gentle eye caught his own as she stated, "People should never have to be afraid to tell a figure of authority when something is wrong. That they are afraid or reluctant has more to do with society than with the person. Later on you and I will sit down, and I will be going over a lot of those details together. In the meantime," she said, straightening up, "I shall be looking into Sirius Black's trial records, or lack thereof."

"Thank you, ma'am. I really appreciate it."

"And here we are, taxes and accounting. However, something does occur to me. You seem to have limited knowledge of the magical world, yes?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied, once more looking at the floor. "I was raised by my muggle aunt and uncle."

Amelia placed that tidbit into the rather large pile of things to look into. "Well, in Magical Europe, we have something called The Right of Conquest. Do you know what that is?"

Harry blinked, his head snapping up. "I think it means, 'I topped the guy, so his stuff is mine.' Is that right?"

Amelia laughed at that. "Not quite, but quite nearly. If what you said is accurate, and no, Mr. Potter, "she said, interrupting the angry look on Harry's face, "I take very little at face value without hard evidence. I am in law enforcement; it's part of the job."

"Yes, ma'am, I understand. You have to look at the facts, and not just the word of one witness."

"Precisely. Now, as I was saying, if what you are saying is accurate, you have defeated You-Know-Who three times to date. That allows you to claim the Right of Conquest over all of his line's holdings and descendants. In addition, you slew a Five X category creature. It's remains are yours by the same right."

"And how would I go about that, ma'am?" Harry asked intently. Amelia was heartened to see an eager gleam of honest curiosity in the boy's eyes.

"Once you leave the ministry and get somewhere private, you raise your wand and state that you claim it by right of conquest. That's it. From there, paperwork will pop up in the appropriate offices, and you'll recieve mail to that effect, possibly requiring you to come in and fill some of it out."

"But I can't do it here?"

"It would be inadvisable. The... how do I put this... The ripple effect within the ministry would be instantaneous, the the echo would disrupt a lot of office's method. Best to get it done a bit away from the building itself, so that the paperwork has time to get done."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you again for guiding me here, and I really am sorry about dumping all that in your lap like that."

"You're very welcome, Mr. Potter. And I want to thank you for bringing these items to my attention; now I have a better view on how to assign personnel to cases."

Amelia turned and walked away, leaving Harry once more attempting to reign in his thoughts and heart rate. This was twice in one day that he'd done that; being away from the Dursleys was doing his self-control no favors. Too much anger and outrage flowed across the front of his mind, and some of it inevitable dribbled out of his mouth.

Finally drawing a cleansing breath, he walked into the doorway.

"May I help you?" asked a relatively young witch. He couldn't get a gauge for her height from behind her desk, but she had chestnut brown hair, each of her fingernails was painted a different color, a pretty, heart-shaped face, and very pretty blue eyes.

"I hope so. My name is Harry Potter, and I was hoping to get a list of my family's taxable assets."

She blinked at that. "One moment please. Gerry?" she called into what appeared to be a microphone from the 1930s. "I got Harry Potter out front wanting to see a property assessment?" There was a pause, and then, "Got it. Go through that door over there sir, and Gerry will be waiting for you." 

Thanking the witch, Harry went through the door to see what appeared to be a modern cubicle farm. The four foot high walls ran as far as he could visually make out, and appeared to be full of employees.

An older man was standing there wearing an older cut of robe. Salt-and-pepper hair, Harry would guess the man to be in his mid-fifties.

"Mr. Potter, my name is Gerard Leighton. Most folks call me Gerry, you should too."

"Then you should call me Harry, Gerry."

"Alright, Harry, Come on over here and have a seat while I wait for the spell to bring your information out of the stacks.'

Harry sat, then asked, "Wait, isn't there supposed to be some sort of identity confirmation? How are you taking me at my word for this?"

Jerry laughed at that. "Actually, it comes down to your wand. Once your wand was registered in the atrium, it allows us to instantly know who we're talking to. It's so much simpler and less problematic than what the muggle government has to deal with."

"Huh. I had no idea."

"Most people don't. It's one of the little tricks the Ministry uses to keep itself aware of things. Speaking of awareness," he diverted, pulling out a thick sheaf of parchment, "here's your list. All of the Potter Properties not under something like the Fidelius."

Harry pulled the sheaf over and began flipping through the contents. Then his eyes crossed. "Uhh..."

Gerry pulled the sheaf back with a laugh. "Yeah, it gets that way. This is primarily the taxable accounting for the Potter properties, and unless you've got a lot of experience with advanced mathematics, or a mastery in tax law, it'll be gibberish to you.

"Let's get the icky parts out of the way first. The cottage at Godric's Hollow was put under stasis by the ministry and turned into a war memorial; the associated monies were deposited in the Potter accounts."

"Stasis? Does that mean my parents' stuff is still in there?"

Gerry shrugged at the question. "No idea, but it's possible. It doesn't say who cast the stasis charm or when. The memorial was established on November 4, 1981, the statue comissioned the day after, placed December 8, 1981."

"I'll have to go to Gringotts to verify the amount."

"Actually, says here that the ministry paid twenty thousand galleons to Vault 704 on November 5, 1981."

"Huh. That's wierd. One of the account auditors told me that the royalties from Sleekeazy went to my trust vault because the main vault was sealed."

Gerry shrugged at that. "Beats me. But if there's a discrepancy, bring the paperwork in and we'll see about sorting it.

"As for the rest of the land properties, it includes Potter Village Estate in the district of Cannock Chase in the county of Staffordshire, a hunting lodge just off the Bay of Skaill in Orkney, a townhouse in Blackpool, and a recovered roman-era villa that stretches between the French and Italian Rivieras, just outside of Menton.

"Other properties include... Wait, this is off." Harry's eyes blinked at that. "The taxable land properties have been updated, but the lists of other properties haven't been adjusted since 1982. House elves, vehicles, animals, crop sizes, all numbers are unchanged from year to year."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Gerry snarled, pulling out parchment and a quill, "that either someone got lazy, or someone is committing fraud. Either way, someone's head is going to roll, and rest assured, Harry, I _will_ get to the bottom of this."

Harry was heartened by this seemingly instantaneous action being taken by the tax offices. After three years in the magical world, his limited faith in authority figures had nearly been wiped out (at one point he had wondered if Voldemort went dark because of government corruption and lethargy), but today had been quite refreshing. First, the head of the DMLE was looking into the details he'd mention about Sirius, and now the tax office was (going by the expression on the man's face, as well as the fury in his quill writing) about to go to war over his tax information being incorrect.

"Alright Harry," Gerry commented, sliding a sheet of parchment over to him, "I need you to sign here, authorizing us to investigate on your behalf. As there are no other living Potters, you'll have to be the signatory."

"Doesn't it matter that I'm underage? I mean, I'll be fourteen in a little over a month."

"That part actually doesn't matter," Gerry explained, a touch of impatience coloring his voice. "As the last scion of the house of Potter, you have the right to manage your property. And anyone who tries to claim that you can't order a fraud investigation on your own property will be fighting the full might of the Tax Auditors."

"Okay," Harry replied, a little hesitant in the face of what could only be described as 'Holy Fury'. Signing the parchment, he asked, "would you happen to know where I can go for other rights I have as an underage last scion?"

Gerry held up a finger for silence as his eyes scanned the parchment for errors. Nodding in satisfaction, he rolled it up, sealed it with a tap of his wand, and then the scroll vanished.

"The paperwork has been sent up the chain. It may take a couple of days to get traction, but nothing is going to stop this investigation," Gerry intoned with a zealot's fervor. He blinked, now recalling Harry's question, and seemed to calm down. "Wait, what? How do you not know about the Last Scion rulings? They were all over the news when the war ended."

"First, I was fifteen months old when the war ended; I was more worried about dirty nappies than I was the news. Second, I was raised by my muggle relatives. I only found out about the magical world when my Hogwarts letter came in."

Gerry blinked several times as an expression filled with horror climbed onto his face. Then he frowned, a scowl hardening his face. "I suggest a good bookstore. Ask for the stuff written at the end of the last couple of wars on various means of House Succession. Trust me, even at your age you can still be the head of your house. And the Ministry has little to do with it. As it's considered a purely internal matter, there are several laws restricting the Ministry from interfering in a lawful succession, especially one involving a last living descendant. Most of the limitations come from the charges related to Line Theft, and _nobody_ wants to get hit with that. Recieving a Line Theft charge in Magical Europe is basically considered a particularly gruesome form of suicide."

"I... I see," Harry replied, clearly _not_ seeing. "If I could get that list of properties and exact locations, I'd really appreciate it. And I'm going to be heading to Gringott's after this, so I'll ask about the cottage payment when I get there."

"Oh, sure!" Gerry cut in, his face now entirely pleasant. "Here is the list, complete with both geographical and apparation coordinates. You'll need someone to get you there, of course. We will be keeping you notified of our investigations as they progress. Where can we owl you?"

Harry's eyes nervously flicked down to the list. Of all the properties, which should he choose...

"I'll try going to the Potter Village Estate. And if I have to go somewhere else because of a decade of neglect or whatever, I'll notify you promptly."

"Sounds great!" Gerry enthused, taking Harry's hand and shaking it firmly.

Ten minutes later, Harry exited the Ministry through the non-magical (okay, less magical) exit, finding himself on the street of Whitehall. Mentally adjusting his sense of direction, he set off for Diagon Alley, a little over a half mile away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never could understand that the only Potter property was the cottage in Godric's Hollow. For an old pureblood family, a two story house just didn't seem right to me.
> 
> I promise to update when I can, but I only just finished this chapter today. I'm still chewing on where it'll go next.


	3. What happens in Gringotts...

The warm June day did nothing to slow Harry down as he sauntered thoughtfully towards Charing Cross Road. His thoughts were in a bit of a whirl, but the rather cathartic unloading to Amelia Bones had relaxed his urge to allow his thoughts to wander too far. Only pausing to buy a cup of shaved ice with lemon syrup from a street vendor, he allowed himself to actually see the historic district of Whitehall.

Half-recalled memories from primary school reminded him that, once upon a time, this borough was originally (and technically still) the City of Westminster. He wondered why much of it was lost to history, and then wondered why history taught at Hogwarts was such crap.

Soon enough, he entered the Leaky Cauldron, passing through into Diagon Alley proper. He did pause outside of Fortescue's, wondering just how Diagon Alley had originally fit into Whitehall's rather high-end neighborhood before the Statute of Secrecy. Looking around at the buildings (which would have driven any muggle architect absolutely insane), he remembered a line from a novel he'd borrowed from Hermione: "A copper thinks with their feet!"

Looking down, he noticed that the cobblestones were of a striking configuration. They all matched; clearly the same manufacturer made them, and the same workers laid them down evenly. He wasn't certain, but he felt like he'd seen them before, and felt a little like the police officer being lectured by Sam Vimes in the novel, as if he was missing something obvious.

Then he resolved to buy more of that series. He'd really enjoyed the parody of modernism, and Hermione had commented that the entire series was practically required reading in Britain.

His feet once more fully engaged, he headed back towards Gringotts. And then stopped yet again, looking at an unoccupied building. It's number was 93, and _something_ about the four story storefront drew his attention, almost as if it was there _in potential._

Shaking his head (and wondering if Trelawney's addled mentality was contagious), he tromped forwards.

And stopped _again_ as his stomach growled. Realizing that he'd missed lunch, he looked around, not really wanting to go back into the Leaky Cauldron. And then a smell drifted across his nose. An aroma that smelled of dreamed of school days, of cuisine that was decidedly not British.

Following his nose, it led him to a slightly out of the way stall, more of a cart with sheets set rigidly up as walls. Guiding himself around to view it properly, he saw that it was a wheeled cart with a roof, and four stools set up in front. Sitting on one of the stools as if by unconscious desire, the man on the other side said, "Ah, a new customer! Welcome friend, to Britain's first fried pizza cart!"

"Fried pizza?" Harry asked, entirely beguiled.

"Oh yes! You see, after the War With Grindelwald, as well as the Second World War, Italy was in dire need of nutrition. The reconstruction workers needed something simple and easy to carry away and eat in the hand. Thus was the panzerotto devised! It's basically a deep-fried calzone, but I call it fried pizza. Would you like to buy one? And if so, what fillings would you like?"

Harry was nearly drooling at this point. Some of his fondest memories of primary school were of the rare cafeteria Pizza Day when Dudley didn't manage to steal his lunch. Looking up, he saw a full list of fillings (limit 3!) that he could add to his Fried Pizza.

Ordering one with italian sausage, black olives, and mushrooms, he watched as the man expertly, without magic, rolled out the dough, placed all the toppings as well as the sauce, sealed the whole thing up, and drop it into the fryer basket. "So, that'll be three sickles. And it'll be done in a few minutes."

Harry counted out the change, then asked, "So, why fried pizza?"

The man chuckled softly at the question. "Honestly, it was a massive choice. I've been heavily trained in Japanese street and festival foods. If it's served at a japanese food cart, I am an expert in cooking it. Here in the West, things like sushi, octopus puffs, and filled pancakes are too 'exotic' to be attractive to the local magicals. I could have gone with something American, like the Bacon Explosion, but that's seen as 'too provincial', and 'those bloody colonists'. So I went with something simple from Italy, and I've been doing pretty well with the local shop employees."

Harry suddenly realized that the man's accent was American; his hunger lust over the aroma had overriden his higher brain functions, and was only just now aware of this. "Huh. Okay. So why Britain, of all places?"

"For the challenge, of course!" the man replied. "Running a cart in Japan would've been too easy, Britain itself pretty simple, especially in a high money region like Charing Cross. But magical Britain? It just _reeked_ of challenge potential. And here's your pizza. Give it a minute to cool."

Harry looked down at his plate, only now seeing the deep brown mound of fried bread. After a minute, he lifted it to his mouth and took a bite. 

And then _moaned_ at the explosion of flavor. It was as if all the good things in the world had been stuffed into a pizza crust and deep fried.

Then he flinched in pain; he'd bitten a finger from eating the pizza too quickly. The man just smiled, saying, "I do love that expression. Means I did a good job, and people truly appreciate what I do."

Wiping his fingers on a napkin, Harry commented, "I don't think I've ever had anything so delicious. God, that was amazing."

"And that's why I do it," the man returned. "I'm mostly here to feed the common worker. I won't be here come Christmas, or when the school shopping begins. No, I specialize in feeding the laborers coming in and out of the Alley. That's where the real work happens, so I feed the foundation of the society."

"Amazing," Harry muttered. "Huh. I can't believe that I'm full! I was about to order another, but I'm so stuffed I couldn't possibly eat another."

"And that's just how I serve," the man replied with a wide smile. "A simple lunch that'll keep a fellow going all day. Anything else?"

"No, I think that'll be all. Thanks for lunch."

Harry managed to meander towards the bank, his full stomach making him a little lethargic. He did manage to get a bottle of water from another stand so that he could get himself in order.

Upon (finally) entering the bank, he approached the teller.

"Yes, wizard?"

"Harry Potter to see Auditor Slipshard."

The goblin grinned maliciously. "Go through those doors, wizard. Third door on the left."

_~THREE HOURS EARLIER~_

"I'm telling you, the boy's idea could be a gold mine for us!" Slipshard snarled out. "I don't know what cart operator told him about all the dark vaults, but blood compatibility vault testing would be a sounding from the deep!"

"I understand that," the goblin on the other side of the desk tiredly replied, "but I don't see how the Ministry will allow us to do that. Too many old money lines are dedicated to keeping all geneological records in their own houses. We won't be able to crack that open."

"Pfft. Have Cresswell present it as an unlocking of taxable wealth, and the Minister will piss himself getting it pushed through. You know it, I know it, and the Board knows it."

The other goblin sighed at that. Slipshard wasn't _incorrect_ , as such, but he certainly had little political acumen. In fact, his lack of political prowess was what made him such a formidable auditor.

"Alright, fine. I don't see how it'd really be a problem, since the vault doors resonate to magical frequency in family lines. We'd need to get some researchers on it, but it shouldn't be terribly difficult. What did Potter want for the idea?"

Slipshard grinned evilly at the question. "Ah, the boy is sharp. Half a percent of each unlocked vault, right off the top. He said he wanted the idea to prove itself by volume, rather than quality. What do you think of that, Ragnok?"

"Huh. Slick. Simple, straight-forward, minimal percentage given that we'd be doing all the shoring... I like it. I can get a contract written within the hour. How complicated do you think it should be?"

"Not at all. No loopholes on either side, plain language for the intellectual property issuance. Let the customers trying to pry open vaults not belonging to them run afoul of penalty clauses. If we pull this off, Potter will have made us far more useful and powerful, especially among the muggleborns."

"Hah! I like it. I'll have to bring in a couple of wizards for the resonance spellwork, but that won't be hard. Maybe make it seem like a complicated procedure, something appearing to use goblin magicks...

"I'll get there. You said you had something else about Potter?"

"Oh yes," Slipshard replied, entirely unaffected by the sudden change of topic, "Gringotts needs to check the legalities of opening a main family vault to an underage wizard who happens to be the last of his line."

Ragnok leaned back at that, tapping his fingernail on the arm of the chair. "Interesting... Last Scion laws would come into play... I take it we're talking about Potter again?" Slipshard nodded. "Alright, so _definitely_ Last Scion, an old pureblood house... What are the complications with his guardians?"

"Magic hating muggles," Slipshard snarled out, grinning. "Pushing that would be simplicity since it's the Boy-Who-Lived. The other issue is that he has almost no knowledge of his family history, on either side. Hells, he just today learned about his royalties for Sleekeazy! The boy knows _nothing_ that any pureblooded wizard should know. He doesn't know who placed him with his mother's sister, doesn't know who his grandparents were... The boy didn't even know what Godric's Hollow was!"

Ragnok let out a low huff of air. "That actually makes things a lot easier. The only people who might possibly object would be the Ministry, and they wouldn't be able to fight this if Potter went public that the government was trying to deny him his inheritance. It'd be too juicy for the Prophet _not_ to publish it, regardless of what Fudge tells them to print.

"Yes, I think we can help Potter get what's his. That it frees up the main vault is a side benefit. Has he talked about possible investments?"

"The boy is thirteen, Ragnok," Slipshard replied, side-eyeing his collegue. "He needs to be thinking of girls and school, not diversified international investment strategies."

"A good point, but it's never too early to examine one's options. I'll check, but I personally see no legal reason not to let him have access. Between his status as last survivor and his fame, there really is no way to fight him ascending to Head of House. If someone does, Potter destroys them in the court of public opinion. Hells, the pureblood families alone would unilaterally unite behind Potter on this. None of them wants the Ministry interfering with their business, and this sort of thing would establish enough legal precedent to do exactly that."

"Good to hear. So how long?"

Ragnok sighed at the auditor's impatience. "Call it an hour for the contract, another half hour to clear the rest of legal for approval on the House Ascendency. Say, three hours at most."

"Excellent. Because he'll be back this afternoon, and I was really wanting to be able to give him answers."

Slipshard left, and Ragnok sent off memos to various legal departments on the Potter situation. Then he wrote out a base contract for Potter's vault idea. It was fairly short, but while there were no loopholes, it was also written up in language that even a teenaged wizard could comprehend.

Then he sent out another memo and waited. Ten minutes later, the door opened. "Hey, Ragnok. You wanted to see me about something important?"

"Cursebreaker Weasely, enter and sit." As Bill Weasely did so, Ragnok commented, "You are here in official capacity, rather than as two friends gossiping over idiots and their gambling debts. Your secrecy clauses will fully apply to this discussion."

"Understood, Solicitor Ragnok," Bill replied, sitting up strighter. "How can I assist?"

"We have a new project that will help out the bank immensely. In fact, it's so simple that I wonder why nobody has considered it before."

"Huh. Well, some of the useful ideas in the world started with a simple concept, some sort of need that nobody realized was essential until it was almost too late. What's the project?"

"Gringotts needs a way to examine the magical signatures of witches and wizards to match them to family held dark vaults."

Bill nodded at that. "That is one hell of a project. Opens a ton of gold, if it pans out. What's the issue?"

"Making it look pretty," Ragnok ground out. "The magic is simple and straight forward; we use it all the time when transferring vault key rights to family members..."

"But making it look mystical and theatrical so that people think it's proprietary goblin magic needs a bit of a less practical touch," Bill finished, smirking. "Adding in a directory of vault signatures for cross-reference would be time consuming, but doable. Anything else?"

"Ideally, as a side-effect, getting the sorceries to create a genealogical tree would be a benefit. The wizard who is licensing this idea to us is muggle-raised, an orphan from the last war, and knows nothing of his family tree. He thought that maybe there was a way to get that with magic, and that muggleborns might be the descendants of cast out squibs from lines considered extinct."

Bill let out a long, low whistle. "Damn. That's one hell of an idea. And a damn good one. Who thought this up?"

"Harry Potter."

"Harry?" Bill asked, eyes widening. "He's friends with my youngest brother, and saved my sister's life a year ago."

"Oh? How did that happen?" Bill proceeded to explain with his mother and Ron had told him.

"A basilisk, eh? That does explain why Lockheart's in St. Mungo's, even if they're being tight-lipped about it. How big was it?"

Bill shrugged. "Beats me. Ron never saw it; he was stuck babysitting Lockheart. But apparently Harry was covered in blood and slime after... wait..."

"Hm? What?"

Bill was frowning, staring at his twitching fingers. "Something... Ron mentioned that Harry said it was 'a memory of Voldemort, preserved in a diary for fifty years'. Pretty sure that's what Ron said."

"Huh. That _does_ sound familiar. Kind of reminds me of... Mykonos? I want to say Mykonos."

"Reminds me of... that dig in Morroco a few years back. A haunted Roman village, and the Berbers brought us in to resolve it. I'll have to go through my notes, but something about it reminds me of that job."

"That's fair. You do that, and I'll do the same for my team notes on Mykonos.

"Anyways, Potter brought this to Slipshard, and Slipshard brought it to me. Can we make this happen?"

Bill rubbed his chin thoughtfully, saying, "The vault key issue would be easiest. Glittering it up like a muggle magician would be pretty simple, a couple of weeks of spellwork, tops. The big time consumption would be collecting all the signature from every vault for an index. The geneology effect would be trickier. Magical signatures can vary wildly across generations... need some sort of chronal magical method... That will take longer," Bill concluded, his eyes meeting Ragnok's, "but I don't see that it's impossible. It might take a few years, but I'm pretty sure that we can do it."

"Good, good. You work on the vault thing for now, glam it up like a Birmingham street magician. I'll let Slipshard know we're working it over."

"Got it. So Harry doesn't know about his heritage?"

"It would seem not. You may want to ask your brother about that. He speaks with Potter regularly, so he'd know more about the insides of that mess. Slipshard seemed rather livid that the boy didn't know. Then again, Slipshard was fairly impressed by Potter's questions and ideas, so that's of no wonder."


	4. Ow, that hurts

"Please sit, Mister Potter. We have much to discuss."

Harry sat down, pulling out the paperwork he'd gotten from the tax office as Slipshard arranged sheets of parchment on his desk.

"Alright, from our end, I have here the contract from Legal. I made them write it out in plain terms, and it's airtight for both you and the bank. Please read it over, and feel free to ask any questions."

Harry read it over. And, as advertised, the contract was indeed in plain english. Simple, direct, there was his percentage listed 'in perpetuity'. "I don't see any problems with this, sir. Just one question. The 'in perpetuity' line. Does that just mean me for as long as I live? Or is for my entire family line for as long as vaults keep getting unlocked?"

Slipshard grinned. "Excellent question. In this case, it means that the monies go to your family line."

"Great! Where do I sign?"

"Sign here, young man. Now nick your thumb, and place a thumbprint here... I'll countersign and do the same... And we're done!" he declared at the parchment copied itself twice, one of them rolling itself up and vanishing. "That was the bank's copy for the master record, this is your copy, and this is Legal's copy."

"I take it that the idea is workable?"

"In general, yes," Slipshard commented, leaning back. "Transferring a family vault's control is a simple thing; we do it all the time with the vault keys and descendants. This project is somewhat bigger, as the project crew will have to make a cross-reference capable registry of vault signatures. With all of the vaults down there that span across the access of magical Europe, it may take a while. While we employees gather the signatures and vault numbers, the project crew will be working out how to make the indexing spells."

"That sounds amazingly awesome," Harry commented, his eyes wide. "And the bloodline thing?"

Slipshard sighed. "I managed to shill it to Legal as a hopeful side benefit, something that could be looked into over a bit more time due to it's complexity. One of our cursebreakers is working out the theoretical particulars. He has middling hopes that we can make it work.

"Did you get yourself sorted, young man?"

Harry ran his hand through his hair nervously. "Sort of. I went to the tax office, and they gave me a listing of the Potter properties. But apparently there was some sort of issue with all of the other taxes. Something about all the numbers being the same?" Slipshard's eyes narrowed at that. "But the guy, um, Gerry Leighton, said he'd begin a fraud investigation on my behalf. Also, apparently the main Potter vault was paid twenty thousand galleons for the house in Godric's Hollow in November of 1981, but I wasn't sure how that would operate since that vault's been sealed for so long."

"Well. My day certainly isn't boring with you here, Mister Potter," Slipshard claimed eagerly. Flipping the ledger open, he scanned over the contents. "Hm. As you suspected, the main vault was sealed November 3, 1981. Nothing has gone into or out of that vault since then. As for your trust vault... Nothing. No deposits until November 17, for the reward on the Dark Lord. And no sign of twenty thousand galleons. How very odd. And unlike Bagnold's ministry to make such an error. Rest assured, Mister Potter," Slipshard ground out, his eyes flicking up to meet Harry's, "we will be sending someone to the tax office to sort this out. They claim we got the money, but the ledgers disagree? No, absolutely not. And we'll be looking into a full audit between the two offices."

Harry leaned back and slightly away at the sheer malevolence emitted by the goblin. This was far different than the zealous fervor that had lit Leighton's eyes, and yet Harry knew in his bones that the two would get along like a house on fire, figuratively and literally.

"That's great to know, thank you."

Slipshard shook his head, internally upbraiding himself for undeservedly startling the young man again. "That's mostly internal politics. We auditors live for this sort of thing.

"And now for your other request. Legal has gone through the books and discovered no lawful reason for you to be withheld from the Family Vault. All we have to do is get you down there and let the vault door accept you as it's new owner."

"Do you forsee any issues?"

"Given that there is no key, the door will examine your essence, make sure you're actually a Potter, not under the Imperious curse or potions, that sort of thing. And as you have the key to your trust vault in hand, that will make the entire process that much simpler. Before we go down, what about the rest of you getting yourself set up?"

"The tax office gave me the list of known Potter properties. The house in Godric's Hollow was put under a stasis charm, so I'm wanting to make arrangements with the Ministry to lift that, at least temporarily, to recover my family things."

"Good, very prudent, Mr. Potter," Slipshard nodded. "However, unless you have a team, or a house elf, the evacuation of personal effects may take some time."

Harry blinked, frowning. He could ask the Weasleys, and he was pretty sure they'd help, but he really didn't want to dig into their summer holiday. And then he snapped his fingers.

"Got it. All I have to do is write a letter to a house elf I know. I helped him get free from an abusive family a year ago."

"Ah, yes. The Malfoy elf. We have some inside information on that." At Harry's startled, unasked question, Slipshard smirked. "Young man, we at Gringott's keep an eye on things. A prominent family removes a servant from vault access? That opens eyes and ears. People get politely asked, rumors are collated and verified, and turns into information.

"As for other information, we _do_ have a little information on some of your exploits at Hogwarts. Now, before you get huffy," Slipshard replied, holding up a hand to forestall, Harry's indignant squawk, "we just today managed to accidentally ask the right person the right question. No, we haven't been spying on you, young man. But some information practically fell into our laps, and we couldn't help but pay attention."

"I... I see," Harry slowly uttered, a bit gobsmacked at the direct bluntness of the goblin auditor. Tales were told among the Hogwarts purebloods of how viciously unfriendly goblins were to all wizards, and three years of history lessons under Binns had only reinforced the rumor mill.

"So tell me, young man," Slipshard said (coyly, or so he thought), "is it true you took down a basilisk in early June of 1993?"

Harry's eyes widened at the (to his view, _really creepily_ ) eager expression on the goblin's face. "Yes, sir. Happened in the Chamber of Secrets."

"Could you please do me a favor and tell me all about it?" Slipshard's eyes shone in glee; the memo he'd gotten from Ragnok about Cursebreaker Weasley's tale had him eager to learn all about it.

"Uh, sure," Harry replied, now quite nervous as Slipshard's expression was easily equal to what his aunt had described as 'the perverted glee of a peeping tom'. "What do you want to know about it?," Harry asked, slowly increasing bitterness lacing his voice. "The fight? The leadup? The shitty attitude from most of the student body when it came out that I'm a parselmouth? The damn diary with the mind of a teenaged Voldemort?"

Slipshard leaned back. _This_ reaction was not what he had been expecting. The bitterness alone spoke volumes, the small twitches in the boy's behavior, muggle relatives who hated all magic... The portrait being painted was beginning to look less like Claude Monet and more like Francisco Goya.

Still, he was an auditor, and a goblin. Such outward expressions were beneath him. "I'll tell you what. Hit me with the condensed form, and if I have more questions I'll ask after."

And so Harry spent the next almost hour telling Slipshard about the opening of the chamber, it's various victims being petrified, him being publicly outed as a parselmouth, his friend's sister being taken, the fraud of a defense teacher, and finally the confrontation. All of the salient details were included, including Voldemort's real name, and that he was a half blood.

Finally, Harry finished his tale with the story of his confrontation with Lucius Malfoy. Slumping into the chair, breathing heavily. Harry fellt lighter, and yet weaker. Venting all of that weight out of his soul had been cathartic, even moreso than it had been with Amelia Bones. Then he had been ranting in a meandering way, here he was telling a specific tale.

"Fascinating, Mister Potter. Absolutely fascinating. Whatever happened to the sword?"

"Probably still in Dumbledore's office. I never asked," Harry replied, his breath slowly returning to normal.

"And the beast itself? Is it still down there?"

"Should be. I mean, the only other parselmouth who knows where the chamber is is Voldemort, and he's less than a ghost right now."

"The size of a bus? Are you certain?"

Harry scratched his head at that. "Not entirely. Granted, I was running like hell for most of it, but I can tell you that the head was taller than my whole body was."

"And you never got a chance to explore the chamber."

"Nope. I was too busy not dying and getting people out of there with the help of Fawkes."

"I see. Fascinating, truly fascinating," Slipshard mused aloud.

"Umm, as fascinating as this is, I'd like to ask permission to do something?"

"Hm? Oh, by all means, ask, young man. You have brought nothing but good things to Gringotts, so we are feeling quite generous with our time," Slipshard replied, smiling brightly.

Harry inwardly cringed at the threateningly _creepy_ smile, but pressed on. "While I was at the Ministry, Madame Bones said that I should claim the Right of Conquest over the basilisk, and I might be able to claim it over Voldemort."

Slipshard stared at Harry as if seeing him for the first time. The Right of Conquest, as far as Slipshard was aware, had not been directly claimed in Britain in over fifty years. Nobody had met the requirements, or if they had they simply didn't know about the Right. "Yessss... Yes, over the basilisk. Not sure about the Dark Lord, but probably. I'd have to ask Legal about that one, but a Five X class creature, most definitely."

"Would you mind if I did that here? Madame Bones told me not to do it in the Ministry; something about the paperwork getting wierd."

Inhaling sharply, Slipshard, said, "Yes, but just a moment. Let me tell downstairs that a wizard is using magic with permission, and why." Scrabbling out a note, he stamped it for delivery. The note vanished, and Slipshard continued with, "Sorry about that. It shouldn't be a problem, but one of the many treaties with your government states that no wizard is allowed to use wanded magic within Gringotts without permission under pain of becoming dragon chow."

Harry nodded in agreement. "The Goblin Treaty of 1472. Gringotts got that allowance in accordance with the agreement to found the bank."

"Correct, young man. In fact, the permission has to come from the bank's Board of Directors. While we wait for that, do you have any questions before you perform the Right and we head to your family vault?"

Harry chewed on that for a moment. "Not really. But we did kind of get sidetracked. We were talking about the Potter properties?"

"Ah! Of course we were," Slipshard laughed. "So, we covered the cottage. What else was there?"

"Potter Village Estate in Staffordshire, a hunting lodge Orkney, a townhouse in Blackpool, and a roman villa outside of Menton in France. I have the geographic and apparition cooredinates for all of them."

Nodding approvingly, Slipshard commented, "Got to love the tax men. Even if all other records are reduced to naught but oral tradition, the tax record will always survive. It's how historians discovered much of the Code of Hammurabi, and that the Christian history during the Roman period is actually heavily flawed for places and dates."

"Oh, okay. We never covered that in primary school, and Hogwarts doesn't... Huh. Now that I think about it, how do muggleborns manage to keep pace in the muggle world after seven years at Hogwarts?"

The auditor huffed at that. "Something not a lot of people are aware of, Mr. Potter, is that muggleborns are essentially forced immigrants to the magical world. Unlike places like America, the Statute of Secrecy is divisive, forcing the European magicals to hide themselves and their way of life. In America, magicals and non-magicals live side-by-side. Instead of hiding themselves, they merely hide their magic."

"So if a muggleborn wanted to go to a regular college after Hogwarts..."

"They'd have a bad time of it. Imagine, seven years without a record in the system. No GCSE scores, no A-Levels, no grades in the system whatsoever. Ministry obliviators have a hell of a time adjusting memories so that the public doesn't notice what would normally be over a hundred children a year simply vanishing from the school records. And since the communications technologies in the muggle world are improving at such a prolific rate, the European magicals have too much difficulty in keeping up. Places like America and Asia have always hidden the action and not the population, so it'll be Europe that ends up outing us all onto the world stage."

"So what do the muggleborns do?"

"Most of them leave for other, friendlier countries," Slipshard shrugged. "Especially in Britain, where it's almost impossible for a muggleborn to get the same class of job as a pureblood; the old money has sway here, and it talks loudly.

"A few abandon the magical world entirely, their experiences with blood purity and toxic politics poisoning them against magic in general to the point where they simply leave, never to be seen in a magical place again."

Then Slipshard laughed. "Those politics came back to bite the Death Eaters back in '74. One muggleborn went through all seven years of Hogwarts, and then left the magical world. A few years later the Death Eaters decided to do a little muggle baiting. They set fire to a house in Derbyshire and waited for the family to come out screaming.

"What they got was someone gifted in war wizardry, practical duelling, and combat transfiguration. The man was considered a truly gifted prodigy, and only missed joining the Unspeakables' Hit Wizard division because the son of a prominent pureblood got the open slot.

"Ten Death Eaters went there. Only one survived, and that was only because he saw what had happened to the first three and portkeyed out. It took the Death Eaters almost two years to find him, cost them half of the original, founding Inner Circle, and it took the Dark Lord himself to bring the man down."

"Wow," Harry breathed in awe. "Who was he?"

"We don't know. His name was removed from all Ministry records by an undercover agent. Trust me, if we could get a man like that, well...

"Anyways, that's what usually happens to roughly seventy percent of Muggleborns in Britain. The rest settle for low-end jobs, or marry into families who are a little less picky about their brand of inbreeding."

"Wait, what? Inbreeding?"

Slipshard sighed at the boy's horrified expression. "It's days like today," he muttered tiredly, "that I wish someone had kept the etiquette course at Hogwarts. And yes, young man, inbreeding. And no, I'm not going to explain what happens between witches and wizards." He smirked at the young man's hot flush, but they both seemed content to let that drop.

"So, about your properties. Which one will you be living at?"

"I was going to try living at the Village Estate in Staffordshire. I'm not sure what I'll do if the house isn't intact, though."

"A suggestion?" Harry nodded. "Go into Diagon, one of the travel stores, and get yourself a wizarding tent. It's basically a house that sets up like a tent."

"I... had no idea that those existed. Damn, what else am I going to have to find out the hard way?"

"Most things in life, Mr. Potter," Slipshard laughed out, even as a slip of parchment materialized on the desk. "And there's your permission to use your wand for the Right of Conquest, with thanks from the Board for asking permission."

Standing, Harry drew his wand. Holding it aloft, he stated, "I, Harry James Potter, do claim the Right of Conquest over the basilisk of Slytherin." His wand tip flared once, and Harry felt the magic resonate through his being. And then a second pulse rippled through his head.

Suddenly he breathlessly gripped the back of the chair; it was as if he had just gotten done running from Dudley's friends. His body had little strength, his legs were shaking and he was panting hard as the second pulse faded away.

"Are you alright, Mr. Potter?"

"Yeah, I think so. Dunno if that was supposed to happen. Like I just ran a huge race."

"I see. Take your time. Can I get you anything?"

"Water, please. It just took a lot out of me."

Several minutes, and three glasses of water later, Harry stood up straight again. "I, Harry James Potter, do claim Right of Conquest over the holdings, members, and line of Tom Marvolo Riddle, otherwise known as Lord Volemort."

A massive wind sprang up, temporarily blowing out the torches in the room. As they guttered back to life, Slipshard was hurrying around the desk to see Harry face-down on the floor, gasping for breath. Slowly, he rolled himself over. "Okay, that was dumb of me," he mumbled. "Too much too fast. Gotta learn moderation."

"What do you mean?," Slipshard asked, slipping a straw into the glass of water for Harry to sip.

"I thought it'd be like my Patronus. A little taxing, but not too bad. This feels like waking up from dementor exposure. It just aches _everywhere_."

Setting that tidbit onto yet another mental note, he waited for Harry to get enough energy to sit up, then helped him back into the chair. Once the boy was in no danger of anything, Slipshard slid back around the desk.

While Harry recovered with his water, Slipshard made several notes, sent out and received a few memos. Nearly a half hour later, Harry shook himself, saying, "Okay, that was bad. I just hope it doesn't bite me in the ass later."

"We all hope for that, Mr. Potter. It's really about all we _can_ hope for the future of the choices we make," Slipshard ground out. "While you were recovering, I sent a few memos out about the Riddle line. We have no records of a pureblood line named Riddle."

"He said his dad was muggle. You might want to try old school records. He was in Slytherin, Head Boy in 1945. Got an award for framing Hagrid over the Chamber of Secrets thing two years earlier. Said he claimed to be the one true heir of Salazar Slytherin."

"That certainly narrows matters down," Slipshard commented approvingly, flittering through various paperwork that had appeared on his desk. "That places his birth around 1926... No records of a Tom Riddle. However, in 1944 there was a blood declaration claim on Slytherin's line through... the grandson of Marvolo Gaunt? Hmm. The Gaunt vault has been closed since 1745 due to lack of funds, so there was nothing with us to claim... Hm.

"Ah, here we are. Thomas Marvolo Gaunt, born 1926 to Merope Gaunt. I'm unsure how this was verified, but it was, officially. So you have claimed Right of Conquest over a very old pureblood line that is considered extinct. That'll set some robes alight," he cackled.

"Now, Gringotts has nothing belonging to the Gaunts, but there may be some ancestral property. As you have successfully claimed the Right of Conquest, the Chamber of Secrets also belongs to you, as well as the basilisk. Congratulations, Mr. Potter. Through the Right of Conquest, you are officially the Head of one of the Hogwarts Founder Bloodlines."


	5. You have got to be kidding me...

Harry's face slapped into his hands, and Slipshard barely heard the mumbled, "Oh for _fuck's sake_!" Tiredly lifting his head, he gazed across the desk. "Okay. Got it. Let me see if I have this all right. Distill it down, like Madame Bones said.

"I have four properties by inheritance, the Ministry apparently owes me twenty grand, I am a freaking millionaire, since the Galleon to Pound ratio is 1 to 25, and I now own not only a dead basilisk, but a fourth of Hogwarts?!"

"Nearly correct," Slipshard chuckled out. "Hogwarts was gifted to Great Britain by the descendants of the founders in 1255. When the Ministry of Magic came into being in 1707, they assumed primary control and funding. No person 'owns' Hogwarts, as it is considered a state-owned school.

"With that in mind, you _do_ possess certain rights and obligations. The ward scheme, for example, will bend a bit to your will once you find the wardstones, mostly allowing you to adjust the defenses and such. You'll be able to apparate and portkey onto and off of the grounds due to this. More than that however, you'll have to read the school's original charter. These are old rules that cannot be changed, but that doesn't mean that they're taught anymore."

"Okay. Okay, right, got it. Not so bad."

"Any questions before we head to your vault?"

Harry stared at the floor for a moment, his expression blank. Then his eyes flicked up, as he asked, "Would you have any idea how I might go about finding out about my mum's family?"

Slipshard turned his head from side to side, chewing on the question. "I might have a few ideas," he slowly replied. "What do you know of them?"

"Lilly Evans married James Potter, and her sister Petunia married Vernon Dursley. I found out yesterday from Mister Grimaldi that my grandfather's name was Richard, and he taught anthropology, wrote grants, and worked with someone named Richard Croft."

"Hm. Interesting," Sharpshard mused aloud. "Grimaldi and... Roth? They told you?"

"Yes sir."

"Ah, I see. That actually makes matters a great deal easier. The Right Honorable Viscount Richard Croft is something of a legend to our curse breakers, especially since he was of a squib line before his passing. I recommend finding Grimaldi and asking him. He was often providing maritime transport for Croft's expeditions."

"They mentioned that last night. Apparently they were hear to try to get funding?"

"Oh yes. I was in that particular meeting. They declined to negotiate with the standard investment terms of Gringotts. Gringotts felt that the investment would have been worthwhile, but the terms set by their partner were not negotiable." Sharpshard shrugged at that. "Hardly a rare occurence, but most students of history are after more of an academic name than a monetary one. Nobody goes into archaeology looking to get rich. Their partner was less... academically focussed."

"Are you allowed to talk about that?" Harry asked nervously.

"Certainly. No contract was signed, no agreements made, no promises of secrecy were made. Add to that the gossip flushing about the bank like so much pit water... Most employees have at least heard of their prospective expedition, as well as their issues."

"Okay. Right. I just didn't want to get anyone in trouble by gossiping about the wrong thing."

Sharpshard smiled at the honest concern. "It's alright, Mister Potter. If a contract had been made, then there would have been magically binding secrecy provisions bound into the entire thing; I would have been _incapable_ of speaking of it."

"So, shall we head to my vault now? I figure hit my family vault first, get that unlocked, and then my trust vault to see what's actually in there."

"Certainly. This way, young man," Sharpshard replied, sliding out from behind the desk and leading Harry down the hallway.

As they walked, Sharpshard considered the young man next to him. The boy was quite sharp, a little scattered in the mind but very intuitive. Polite and courteous, but also in possession of a timidity that spoke of harsh treatment in his youth. Given that he'd admitted that the muggle relatives hated magic, it was of little surprise, but still rather startling to learn that the Boy-Who-Lived, Savior of Britain, was treated poorly in a muggle household, rather than live with, well, just about _any_ wizarding family. He honestly couldn't think of any family in Britain that would refuse such an honor (although he could name several that shouldn't be allowed within several miles of the young man).

And then there was the mess with the basilisk. In much of Europe, being a parselmouth carried a very negative stigma. Outside of Europe, however, it had a far more positive stigma, one that Sharpshard hoped to share with Potter.

'Wait, have I actually grown _fond_ of the young man?' Sharpshard asked himself in shock. 'Why am I actually considering... No, I have been _actively_ helping him all day! I've been pushing his ideas, the description of the basilisk fight, everything about him screams at me to... _respect_ him?' he though to himself in disgust.

By the time they boarded the cart, Sharpshard had gone through the entire day in his head, replayed every twitch, vocal inflection, and facial expression. There was no doubt that Harry Potter was honest, creative, and at a point where he was nearly done with the fickle public at Hogwarts. Slipshard was tempted to say that the young man was almost to the point of wanting to be shot of Britain entirely.

Finally, the cart ground to a halt in front of Vault 704. To Harry it looked like any other vault door that he'd seen (given that he'd seen a grand total of three prior to this, it wasn't saying much). Harry, Slipshard, and the cart driver got out and approached it.

"Go on, Mister Potter. Touch the door, declare your name, and that under the Last Scion laws you claim your inheritance."

Nodding, Harry nervously wiped his hands on his pants. Laying his hands on the door, he decisively said, "I am Harry James Potter, last child of the Potter Line. In accordance with the Last Scion laws, I claim my inheritance and place within the family."

A gentle wind rose up, ruffling Harry's hair as he felt the door examining him. The magic felt warm, comforting, welcoming. Like coming home. 

Suddenly he felt a massive pulse echo through his head, and he was bodily flung across the minecart track, rolling to a stop some thirty feet away.

"Mister Potter, are you," Slipshard asked concernedly, stopping even as Harry shakily rose to his feet, he eyes blazing in fury glowing in the same eerie shade as the Killing Curse.

"No," he whispered, the small utterance echoing unnaturally down the tunnel. "I will not be denied!" he shouted, striding purposefully back to the door.

Eldritch wind blew at him, slowing his steps until he was barely making any headway. Slowly, gradually, one foot in front of the other, he finally managed to slam both of his hands onto the door.

"I will not be denied by the only real family I ever had!" he screamed, forcing his magic at the door. "You will accept the last Potter!"

The two goblins were staring at this entire interaction. Untouched by the wind, they stood there, watching a young, blooded warrior defy the deep magics of Gringotts itself in the name of family. Slipshard kept his eye on the entire interaction, seeing how Harry almost gripped the smooth vault door with his _skin_ , feet planted with little more than will.

Finally, after several minutes the wind guttered out, and Harry dropped to his knees, his head resting against the door,

"Fuck."

"Mister Potter, are you alright?" Slipshard asked, slowly advancing.

"Kinda. I'm not hurt or anything."

"Do you know what happened?"

Harry rolled backwards, laying fully onto the stone even as his feet popped up to rest on the door. "Sort of. At first the magic was really nice. Welcoming. Like the expressions on grandmothers' faces on the telly. Then the magic smacked my head and shoved me away. I know it was a warning," he stated, cutting Sharpshard off, "but I guess I was too upset to really care. Made my way back to the door, and the magic just gave up and shut down rather than let me in.

"Wait," Harry muttered, his eyes on the ceiling. "My head..." Sitting up, he looked Slipshard in the eye. "Both times I did the Right of Conquest, the secondary pulse of magic was in my head. My forehead. It was the same here, except the magic shoved my _head_ away, not my entire body.

"A couple of years ago, the Headmaster said that the scar gave me a bit of a connection to Voldemort, which is probably why I'm a parselmouth, and can sense him when he's around. Could my scar be a factor here?"

"I don't know, Mister Potter," Slipshard said, drawing it out slightly as he considered the ramifications of the question. "I'm an auditor, not a curse breaker. At any rate, let's get you to your trust vault; clearly this one isn't going to let you in any time soon. Best we devise a different way to get this done, yes?"

Harry shook his head at that, slowly getting into the cart. "I think some other day is good for me looking at that. Today's about done me in.

"Oh, and before I forget. I want to thank you for everything you've helped me with today, Mister Slipshard. I think you've been more helpful than either of us realize, and I just wanted you to know."

'Oh, won't _that_ just make the rounds,' Slipshard internally groused, knowing that the rumor of that would hit the upper levels before the cart would. Rumor, the only thing faster than light.

A bit later, Harry finally flopped down into the chair in Slipshard's office. As Slipshard seated himself behind the desk, the door opened and a tall, redheaded wizard stepped in. "You wanted to see me, Auditor?"

"I did, Cursebreaker Weasley. This is our client, Harry Potter. I want you to examine his scar, and his person, for anything amiss."

Bill's eyebrows rose at that. "Shouldn't there be a healer here for that, sir?"

"Maybe later. Please just do it."

Harry's head lifted, and Bill could visibly see the exhaustion in the boy's face. "You're Bill Weasley? Harry Potter. I know Ron."

"Hi, Harry. Ron, Ginny, and the twins have told me quite a bit about you. Hold still while I cast this."

A minute later, Bill frowned. Grabbing a bit of parchment and a quill, he did a quick and dirty charm set to let them write out the reults. Then he chanted the spells again.

"Here we are. I wanted evidence of this, to make sure I wasn't misreading it."

Slipshard held up the parchment, reading it. "If it were anyone else, Weasley, I'd ask if this was a joke."

"What? What's going on?" Harry asked concernedly. Slipshard handed the parchment over, and Harry stared at the writings, dumbfounded.

A long nonsensical series of numbers and letters filled the page almost completely. Turning it sideways, Harry could see that the symbols almost formed a face. Taking his glasses off, the whole thing blurred, and now it was _definitely_ a noseless, hairless face.

"The fuck?" He asked succinctly.

Bill sighed, conjuring himself a chair. "You see, Harry, the spell chain I just used reveals the nature of magical things. I usually use it on ancient tombs and the like to reveal traps, curse throwers, and magical items. By linking it to something that writes, I could show you what the spell showed me."

"But it doesn't make any sense!" Harry exclaimed. "I mean, I get that the numbers show a face; I saw a kid in school do that on the Apple in gradeschool. But what do the numbers _mean_?"

Bill shrugged. "I'm not sure yet. With permission, I'd like to show this around to a couple of departments. My arithmancy is good, but there are people who make it their lives. I might also want to show it to someone who does alchemy, see where it goes."

"What does that mean for me?"

"Nothing, really," Slipshard interrupted. "You still have money, you have resources, and you have short-term tasks to achieve. In all likelihood that sequence has been there since 1981, and has no more bearing now than it did two years ago. In short, let us worry about it. You are a client, and a business partner. We care for our own, Mister Potter."

"Okay. Right. Focus on the goals, I can do that," he breathed, pulling out his notebook. After checking it over, he nodded to himself. "Tell you what. I'll hit my trust vault for some cash, then head out, grab a tent, and then find a travel place to get me where I need to go. Sound good?"

"Where are you heading, Harry?"

"Staffordshire. Apparently one of the Potter Houses are there. Why do you ask, Bill?"

Bill smiled at him gently. "I can side-along apparate you if you have the coordinates. I'm almost off work today anyways. Give me twenty minutes or so to clear up some paperwork and we can go."

"Sounds great, Bill. Although I'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about any of this. I've got too much going on to deal with much else," Harry wrapped up, holding out his hand.

"Not a problem. Isn't anyone else's business anyways," Bill answered, shaking Harry's hand. He then turned Harry's hand upwards, staring at his palm. "Why do your hands look burned _and_ frostbit?"

Harry shrugged tiredly. "Disagreement with a vault door."

"And you didn't say anything, Mister Potter?" Sliipshard asked, staring at the very ugly blisters, as well as at Harry's lack of reaction.

Harry shrugged again. "They weren't worth mentioning. They heal. They always do," he stated bitterly, looking away.

Bill pulled a jar out of... somewhere. Popping it open, he smeared the salve over Harry's hands with the ease of long practice. Almost instantly the blisters faded, leaving reddish skin in their place. "You hands will be a little tender for a couple of hours, but that'll take care of it.

"So, twenty minutes?"

"Sure thing, Bill. I'll be in the lobby. Thanks again, Mister Slipshard."

Harry slowly made his way out. Once the door closed completely, Bill turned towards the desk. "Auditor, this probably isn't my place, but what the hell happened?"

"Do you have paperwork, Cursebreaker?"

"Nothing that can't be put off to tomorrow."

Leaning back in his chair while rubbing at his forehead, Slipshard began by saying, "The last Potter can't get into his family vault because of whatever is in his scar. The defenses acted like the young man was possessed, but that would have shown up on our ward monitors as soon as he set foot in the lobby. The door was about to welcome him, and then shoved him away."

"I've never heard of that."

"Me either. I'll send a memo to the cart driver head; maybe she'll have something. At any rate, he is now a business partner, and we'll treat him accordingly."

"I understand, sir. He's also a family friend; Mum's all but legally adopted him."

"Best be careful, Weasley. Odds are near a hundred percent that your sister owes him a life debt."

"That I already knew. My brother wrote me a letter last year telling me what he could, and I got the rest from mum. Ron didn't see all of it, but he knew enough."

"It's going to get a lot more interesting now that Harry Potter has effectively allied himself with Gringotts."

"How do you mean?"

"You know about the vault key thing?"

"Of course. I'm the one glamming it up for public presentation. I'm also working on the geneaology part of it."

"His idea. Every bit of it. He dropped Slytherin's basilisk, declared Right of Conquest over both it and You-Know-Who. Did it an hour ago in this office."

Bill whistled at that, eyes wide. "Damn. Ron always said Harry had a pair, but that... Wow. Hell of a guy."

"Mm-hm. Hopefully he'll be back in the next couple of days, once I have legal draw up an offer. Basilisks are rare, and he said that it's head was taller than he was."

"That was over a year ago. Think it'll still be any good for anything?"

"Given the conditions, most likely," Slipshard commented, grunting as he rose from his chair. "And since he knows next to nothing about his place in the world, it's going to have to be down to us to assist him. I swear, he needs a mind healer, a stack of books on how truly close to collapse our society is, and possibly a series of tutors. Best I might be able to arrange are the books."

Bill smirked at the older goblin's admission. "You respect him," he commented simply.

"I do," Slipshard admitted as he came around the desk. "Killed a basilisk at twelve with a sword. That's something we can respect. Can cast a Patronus; admitted it like it was nothing. That's power without arrogance. More respect. Can you fault me?"

"Not really. Are you planning on getting his memories into a pensieve?"

"I wasn't, but now that you mention it I might. Hells, I don't know how I'm going to mention this to the Board. I'm in too deep to back out, and Potter trusts me. He doesn't strike me as someone who trusts easily; I'm pretty sure that you only got to cast the spells you did because your family has treated him as family."

"Could be," Bill admitted, looking at his watch. "At least I got his hands healed up. Wonder what he meant by all that, though."

Slipshard snorted as he reached the door. "I'd lay down a wager of goblin silver that Harry Potter has gone through a hell that would break you or I. He's thirteen, slain a basilisk, faced down You-Know-Who three times, and who knows what else. Add to that magic hating relatives, and I'm surprised he isn't either as dark as You-Know-Who, or a husk mindlessly going through the motions of life."

"Yeah... Wait, I remember Dad telling me about... Ron and the twins stealing my dad's car to pick up Harry. Jeez, was it two years ago? Anyways, they had to pull bars off the window to get him out; Dad still has them in his shed."

"Interesting. Maybe someday we'll get the full story. For now, you head to the lobby. I'll be meeting with the Board to get permission to deal with all of this. This is going to be interesting..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cleaned up Chapter One. Turns out I had Sharpshard listed under three different names. My bad.  
> Criminy. Chapter 5, and Harry is still on the day after Hogwarts. This story is meandering quite a bit, but all of this setting up is leading to long-term developments.
> 
> Also, creating Original Characters is *hard*! Between Slipshard, Gerry Leighton, and the fried pizza guy, I'm not sure where this is going to wander through. I know where I'm GETTING to, but not the path there.
> 
> Comments and criticisms are always welcome. Thanks for reading!


	6. A Near Miss

"Hey, Harry, You ready to go?"

"Hey Bill. I think so. Just trying to catch my breath, you know?"

Bill chuckled. "I heard you had a rough day. C'mon, let's see about checking out your house."

As they exited the bank, Harry asked, "Where are we going, specifically?"

"A designated apparation point over by the Leaky. Apparating at will is discouraged, because you might accidentally take someone's arm with you. My brother Charlie has a friend who's a trainee Auror; according to her, almost a third of all their paperwork is from fixing apparation splinching."

"Damn. That sounds... unpleasant," he replied queasily.

"It is. You'll get that class in your sixth year. It's not mandatory, and it costs eleven galleons."

"That's expensive as hell."

"It's the wizarding version of a driver's license," Bill shrugged out. "I remember when Dad got his. I think I was nine, and it cost him almost a thousand pounds, so eleven galleons is pretty cheap in comparison."

Harry considered this. "Yeah, seems like a pretty good deal, once a little perspective is put on it."

"Exactly. Oh, wait," Bill said, stopping in his tracks. "Wasn't there somewhere else you needed to go?"

Harry snapped his fingers at that. "A wizarding tent, right! I'll also need some way to get back to the Alley."

"Hmm. Alright. There's a couple of stores we'll need to hit. First is a expandable bag place, then a travel agency. Since you'll be getting a portkey to the Alley, it should be pretty cheap."

"And the tent?"

Bill chuckled in good humor at that. "The sky's the limit, Harry. The only limit is the money you dump into it. No, seriously," he said to Harry's suspicious expression, "I personally own a four bedroom tent that's kitted out like a large flat. I've seen tents, suitcases, trunks, backpacks, and even a small ladies' clutch kitted out even more extravagantly. Palaces, Harry," Bill continued to explain. "My tent that I take into the field is simple, because I like taking with me only what I need. That, and I keep most of my personal stuff in my actual house in a section of magical Israel.

"I've seen tents set up like something out of the Golden Age of Arabia, the Japanese Imperial Court, old manor houses, and one time some American had one set up like the Winchester House. All doubleback staircases, trick doors, and secret passages."

"Wow," Harry breathed, impressed. "Magic is so awesome sometimes."

"Oh yeah. Awesome and terrifying," Bill told Harry even as he started moving again. "I find that the more power a situation has, the more grandiose and horrible it can all become. I don't care what the magical moderates think; there _is_ a difference between us and muggles, and it's capability. The muggles get really creative, and we magicals tend to go over the top.

"Now, I'm not saying we're _better_ , Harry," Bill continued in response to Harry's shocked expression. "We magicals _are_ different in our capability. However, our common thread has always been our shared ability to be absolutely sh... horrible to people who disagree with us," he continued, curbing his speech in the middle of the street. "That's the thing, Harry. Humans are, in general, pretty damn horrible, no matter if they're magical or muggle. And the rub of it is that, when you get right down to it, most people, on both sides of the fence, really just want tomorrow to be mostly like today. The average person likes regularity. It's people like me who chase adventure; we're the outliers, the innovators, the risk takers. People like me, and you too, from what Ron and the twins tell me. We're the ones who shake things up, make people nervous. I'm pretty sure that every Dark Lord started off the same way."

Harry looked at Bill in askance. "I always thought that Voldemort did what he did due to government corruption and inertia."

"I'll have to get your opinion on that later, Harry. That one's a little too deep to chat over on the high street," Bill commented, opening a storefront door.

Instantly Harry was hit with multiple aromas. The scents old and new leather, oil, canvas, and wood wafted around him welcomingly. Looking around, all he saw were a number of boxes with price tags tied to them.

Leading Harry further in, Harry finally spotted a series of shelves longer than should have been possible in such a space, and every one was loaded with all manner of luggage.

"Mister Harkin," Bill spoke up to a man standing next to a workbench littlered with various luggage fitting, "my friend Harry here needs a portable abode."

That man turned, and Harry could see that was was tall, well over six feet, broadly built and muscular. The body of a man who exercised regularly and intensively. The face, on the other hand, was jovial, with lots of laugh lines around the dark blue eyes, His hair was close-trimmed, almost being a buzz cut.

"Hey, Bill. How's that tent treating you?"

"Pretty good. I had to replace a couple of interior poles last month. A curse got away from me and headed for the nearest magical item; you know how it is."

Harkin laughed uproariously at that, as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "Yes, yes I do. So Harry, what kind of thing do you believe you need?"

Harry blinked, and looked around in bafflement. "No idea. I didn't even know this sort of thing was possible, sir."

"Ah, I see. Muggleborn?"

"Close enough, yeah."

Harkin looked him up and down, then pulled out a stool and sat down. "Tell you what. You tell me what sort of things you'll be wanting to get up to with a house you can fit in your pocket, and I'll see what I can offer you for a good fit."

"Sounds good," Harry agreed, glad that Bill had taken him to what appeared to be an honest salesman. "I have inherited a number of properties that have sat empty for over ten years. I'm wanting to pick one to live in, but I don't know if any of them would be good for that after that long empty."

"Hmmm, I see," Harkin nodded, flitting his eye around the shop at the various merchandise. "So basically, you're getting a portable house in case your actual houses are falling down. So you'll be needing the basic amenities, for certain. At least a bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom would be the minimum, yeah?" Harry nodded at the summation. "Are you wanting anything else, in case the houses are more time intensive than you think?"

Harry blinked, his memory now flitting through the interiors of various houses he'd seen, both in person and on the telly.

"How durable could the item be made?"

Harkin smirked, pulling a book off of the workbench. Flipping through it, he tapped a page. "Depending on the material, all the way from simple cloth to a muggle tank. The only real difference are the runic matrices. Granted, if you're wanting almost indestructable, it'll cost quite a bit of gold."

"Well, yeah. 'Never skimp or delay on paying the man who fixes your house.' Something my uncle said. Huh," Harry murmured thoughtfully, looking at the floor, "maybe uncle Vernon does know what he's talking about sometimes."

"Sounds like there's some wisdom in there you've not considered," Harkin laughed out. 

"Now that I think about it, I guess it'd have to be easy to set up, simple to carry around, and not terribly noticeable."

"Alright, so that rules out tents and trunks," Harking nodded, noting a couple of things down. "That actually effects what I can and can't do. The better or larger the outer structure, the more wiggle room I have to set up the runes. An old sea trunk would be fantastic, but hard to lug around and would stand out like nothing else. A tent takes time to set up, even with magic, and either would stand out anywhere you go.

"So that brings us to other luggage. Hmm. You don't seem like a briefcase kind of fellow, maybe a messenger bag or a knapsack?"

"That would be great. I remember my cousin getting some magazines from America; all sorts of camouflaged backpacks and bags, made for muggles who think the world is about to end."

Harkin roared in laughter at that, while Bill snickered. "I've heard of that. We have a few of those nutters here in Britain," Bill commented, still smirking. "If they had access to enchantments, the survivalist movement wouldn't currently be in decline."

"Correct you are, Bill," Harkin agreed, his laughter having run down to heavy breathing. "Fortunately, I do have a selection of muggle military surplus backpacks in my stock. Not much appeal to the old money types. They all choose steamer trunks and tents; too bound in tradition. Muggleborns who find out about expansion charms, however, tend to make heavy use of such items. After all, it _is_ what they're accustomed to, and they weren't raised being told that something is impossible. Muggle creativity is a damn fine thing; it allows people like me to turn a nice profit outside of the limits of old money types."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, regaining his calm. It was almost as if the past twenty-four hours had been conspiring to confuse him with too many facts and not enough time to process it all.

Snapping his eyes open, Harry said, "In that case, let's go with a military rucksack with the back bracing. For the exterior, heavy canvas and as hard-wearing as it can be made. What can be done to ensure a proper defense when I'm in it?"

"Defense? Well, there are several suites of offensive spells that can be set into a portable house, but I don't offer them. I am not a violent person, and refuse to sell something that can be weaponized."

"No, that's not what I meant," Harry responded, shaking his head. "I mean... I want... What can be done to keep people out of it that I don't let in, and what can be done to hide the bag when I have a kip?"

"Ah, I see! Well, there's the standard suite of guidance wards. Muggle repellant, notice-me-not, confundus and the like to gently steer people away from the bag. That, and a disillusionment that can be activated from the control cluster inside the bag itself. That's chameleonic invisibility, young man," Harkin said in response to Harry's look of questioning.

"The disillusionment charm is usually taught in fifth year, Harry," Bill piped up.

"That pretty well covers the exterior, Harry. You'd have to choose the bag itself, but the work is simple enough. What about the interior?"

"Um... Wait, do you have a catalog?"

"I do!" Harkin declaimed, walking over to the counter and pulling one out.

"And... depending on the enchantments, roughly how long would it take to enchant a bag?"

"Hmm... If you went with... If you decided... At the absolute outside, a week. But we'd be talking about a bag that could hold roughly two hundred acres of house and grounds."

"So anything less would be less time, I get that. I just wanted a fair guess." Harry looked at the catalog, his mind fully active. "Do you rent wizarding tents?"

"I do. What's your idea?"

"I would like to rent a tent for a week, and tomorrow I'll place my order with you. At the end of the week, I'll bring back the tent and pay for my order."

More laughter followed at that. "Genius! Not many people would think of such a solution. In fact, too many customers come in and get upset when I can't simply plop down _exactly_ what they want while they wait. High money types, you know.

"In that case, I have a two bedroom tent with kitchen, bathroom and living room, fully furnished, of course. That includes the standard appliances for a small house, all magical of course. For a week's use, I would charge... multiply by... carry the eight... Discount because of order... How does six galleons strike you"?

"Sounds great, sir," Harry replied, relief tinging his voice as he pulled out his money pouch and counted out the coins.

"Fantastic!" Harkin again declaimed, dropping the change into a drawer. "Come with me, and let's find you a bag. That'll let me at least get the initial matrices set up, and once I get your order I'll be able to add to that."

Ten minutes later, Harry walked out of the store six galleons lighter, and his newly rented tent packed tightly into his now reshrunken trunk.

"You okay, Harry?" Bill asked with a knowing smile.

"The alley seems so... _quiet_ after Mister Harkin. Do he do everything so, well, loudly?"

"Oh yeah. Harkin is an odd one, alright. 'Declaiming and proud!' is his motto. He just prefers to be happy with whatever life tosses him, making the absolute best out of every day."

"Sounds like a fun outlook if he can make it work."

"He certainly seems to be able to. Never could manage it myself," Bill admitted, guiding Harry to a different section of the alley.

Fifteen minutes later Harry had a three-use, one way portkey to the apparation point in Diagon Alley. Harry was surpised at how simple and direct (and inxepensive. Two galleons!) a transaction it was with Bill there to haggle for him. Another twenty was spent buying food from various stalls on a side alley.

As they walked toward the Leaky Cauldron, Bill explained, "Honestly, Diagon and Knockturn are just primary streets in the alley. The entire magical district is pretty big, and makes a lot of use of permanent expansion magics to keep all of the side streets stable. Later on I'll have to show you around a bit. I would have Dad do it, but Mum would throw a wobbler over expanding the mindset of any of you kids."

"I bet Fred and George don't have that problem," Harry scoffed.

"No, they don't. They also don't rub Mum's nose in it," Bill countered. "Our house is kind of dysfunctional, but it does work so long as we all remember the basics. It being something we grew up with, it's normal to us."

"Does that explain why Ron got a second-hand wand, while Percy got an owl for making prefect?"

Bill sighed, his booted feet stopping. "I never agreed with that; neither did Charlie. Charlie left his old wand at the Burrow in case there was an emergency. Having a spare, somewhat compatible wand around is never a bad idea, Harry. But Mum, being proud as she is, decided that Ron could make do with a worn, second-hand wand that was compatible enough due to blood relations.

"I'll be honest here, Ron gets the shit end of the stick a _lot_ in our family, and it's left it's marks on him. Second-hand everything, from wand to robes to rat might be bad enough, but... No, no, sorry," Bill stopped himself, shaking his head. "There's some things that you really don't need to know. Just know that Ron's behavior is a direct result of how he was raised. Insecure, mulish, jealous, insulting, all of it is because of his particular place in the family.

"I'm not going to ask you to forgive his behavior, Harry," Bill continued, laying his hand on Harry's shoulder and feeling the very slight flinch. "All I ask is that you try to be understanding of where he's coming from. He sees you as a very good friend, someone he can trust. Please be there for him, because between what all went on at the Burrow and puberty, he's going to have a bad time of things in his head. Can you do that, Harry?"

Harry looked Bill in the eye, saying, "I understand what you're saying Bill. And I promise to try to be there for him."

"Thanks, Harry. That really does take a load off my mind."

"Mister Potter!" called a voice from a storefont. Bill saw Harry's head snap around, his feet shifting to prepare to run. Bill's wand slipped into his hand in a loose posture as he followed Harry's gaze to see an older man standing there, grinning and waving. Beside him was a younger fellow (Bill would guess a hearty 50s) with silver hair and a muscular build.

Harry's posture relaxed as he walked up. "Hello. Mister Grimaldi. You too, Mister Roth."

Bill's mental rolodex popped the two names up, matching them to a (currently) failed negotiation with Gringotts. Bill himself had been disappointed to learn of it; he'd been eager to go and assist in the looking for an ancient kingdom lost some two thousand years ago. And the two women that were to accompany the dig were very attractive (there'd been photos of the team involved), and supposedly quite intelligent.

"How're you holding up, Potter?" Roth asked.

"Eh, it's a mixed bag today, sir."

"Will you be in the alley for a while? Got your arrangements all covered?"

Harry shrugged. "No and yes. I have accomodations getting set up, and have a short term thing while I wait for the rest. As for being in the alley, I'm getting ready to leave. But I'll be back in a couple of days."

Roth held out a slip of paper. "Here's the number of where we're staying. Give us a call day after tomorrow, and we'll tell you all about your grandfather."

Grim cackled. "Oh, aye! There's a lot to tell. Your granddad went to exotic places, did crazy things, and I've got the inappropriate stories to prove it! Yes, Dicky Evans had a hell of a time before he got married."

Bill stared. "Wait, _Richard Evans_? _THE_ Richard Evans? Long-time partner with Richard Croft?"

"That's right," Roth replied, smirking at the young man outright fanboying. "How do you know them?"

"Sorry, Bill Weasley." Bill and Roth shook hands, and Bill continued with, "I was probably going to be on your expedition if negotiations with Gringotts hadn't fallen through.

"Croft and Evans are _legendary_ to archaeologists and cursebreakers! Evans would get the funding, Croft would get the field work done, and they'd come home famous!

"Wait." Bill turned to Harry. " _You_ are the grandson of Viscount Richard Evans?"

Harry blinked, and then shrugged. "These two think so. And Grim knew who my mother and aunt were, so it's a pretty good indication."

"Aye, lad. My cousin also knew your dad, remembered when Lily and James got married. All we need is a dna test, and I'm pretty sure we still have some of Dicky Evans' old spare blood somewhere."

"Wow," Bill breathed. "Damn, Harry. You're famous from _both_ your genealogies."

"Just what I need, more fucking fame," Harry muttered, frowning.

"At any rate," Roth interrupted, "we were just about to leave for a pint. Give us a call in two days, and we'll sit down and talk, alright?"

"Thanks, Mister Roth. I really appreciate it."

"It's no trouble. And please, Just call me Roth, and him Grim."

The pair left through the entrance of the Cauldron, and Bill leaned heavily against a wall, catching his breath from his fanboyish outburst.

"You recovered yet, Bill?" Harry asked, smiling a little, having seen the extremely cool guy have a small meltdown.

"Yeah. Yeah, I should be okay. Sorry about that, Harry. I just met two assistants to a pair of legends in my career. Got a little overwhelmed, you know?"

"That's fair. We ready?"

"Yup. What are the coordinates?" Harry showed him the paper, and Bill sank slightly into his own mind to calculate a blind apparation based exclusively on a set of number.

"Okay, I got it. Now take my arm, and brace yourself."

"For what?"

"Apparation can be rough on a first-timer, Harry. It'll pass, but it's damn rough."

Twelve seconds later, Harry was bent over double, his mouth erupting from the squeezing and feeling of dislocation.

"What the fuck was that?" Harry demanded once his stomach had settled a bit.

"That, Harry, was apparation," Bill replied, handing Harry a refilled bottle of water. "As a means of transportation, it's an excellent purgative."

After rinsing out his mouth, Harry asked, "Is it always like that?"

"No, you get used to it. After a couple of dozen times you barely notice the queasiness, after fifty it's completely gone."

"Right. Oof. Okay." Harry began looking around at where they landed.

Instead of a Grand Manor House, or even an aging castle, he saw what appeared to be a series of buildings laid out in a series of concentric circles.

"Wait. Wait.... Ohhhh, I get it now," Harry commented, smiling a little. "Potter Village Estate. Village, got it."

"Yeah, that makes sense now," Bill chuckled. "Shall we poke around?"

Harry checked his watch, noting the time. "Only if you don't have anywhere else to be, Bill. I don't want to take up too much of your time."

"I was only brought to Britain because of the negotiations," Bill chuckled. "Add to that my upcoming spell research on your contracted project for Gringotts, and I really don't have anyplace in particular to be. Plus, well, I'm a naturally curious, nosy person. It's what made me want to become a cursebreaker. So let's go find out what this village is about."

Two hours later, they'd counted about thirty buildings, all in some manner of severe disrepair. At the center of the town stood a dry fountain surrounding a tower they estimated to be just over a hundred feet tall. The only relatively intact building of note was a largish townhouse, and it's roof had collapsed some years prior.

"So. Not a single building habitable, the main house almost ruined, everything grown to seed," Bill summed up. "This is going to be costly to fix up, Harry."

"I'd heard that wizarding homes lasted for centuries. What happened here?" Harry asked confusedly.

"While wizarding homes do last for centuries," Bill explained in a lecturing tone," it's only because of regular maintenance of the wards and enchantments. After over a decade of nothing like that, of course the buildings began to deteriorate; odds are they've been here for centuries, and without the preserving magics stuff rots at an accelerated rate. The Burrow wouldn't survive two years without Dad spending every Beltane updating the enchantments."

"Fuck," Harry stated, sitting down heavily on the edge of the fountain. "I just... I was hoping for more, you know? Something anything that would connect me with my family."

"Do you mind if I cast a few spells, Harry?" At Harry's exhausted, questioning look, he explained, "Cursebreakers also make good environmental analysts. Our spells include probes to check air purity, soil densities, and aberrant rock formations."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that I can cast some spells and see if there's anything hidden underground. A house provides security, sure. But you ask any really old family, and they'll tell you that nothing beats an underground vault. Preferably one that forms the foundation of a big house."

"Thanks for that. Go for it, Bill."

Bill began casting, and spell after spell flew from his wand, shooting out at the various buildings, odd patches of grass, and finally the fountain.

Fifteen minutes (and two bottles of water) later, Bill said, "Harry, I have good news, bad news, and odd news."

"Hit me. Too tired to be shocked, I think."

"Makes sense, given what I've heard of your day. The bad news is that almost none of the buildings here are salvagable. The good news is that the townhouse over there is salvageable, and has an impressively nasty set of preservation charms laid over it."

"How nasty?"

"Like, you'll probably find some guys in there who tried to loot the place as stasis statues. That kind of nasty."

Harry whistled in admiration. "That's impressive. Museum anti-theft measures. Keep them in for the police to arrest."

"Seems that way. The wierd news is that I found something underneath the fountain. It's fairly deep, but too deep to be a tower foundation."

"How do I see it?"

Bill frowned. His contract strictly forbade him from teaching anything learned from his Gringotts Cursebreaking courses, otherwise he would have taught Harry the spell on the spot.

Finally, he had Harry pull out some parchment, and did the same quick and dirty enchantment he'd used in Sharpshard's office. Recasting the spells, Harry saw the quill draw out the tower (hollow), the fountain, and a tube the width of the fountain descending about thirty feet into the ground.

"So you think there's something there?"

"Seems likely," Bill admitted. "If I was here on a contract, that's where I'd look first for anything valuable."

Harry stretched, and then opened up his trunk, pulling out the tent. "As interesting as it is, I'm knackered. I really appreciate everything you're doing, Bill. It's like nobody knew how or was willing to help me before yesterday, and my brain can't keep up."

"Sure thing, Harry. If things get a bit too much, owl me at Gringotts; I'm there for at least a couple of weeks. Ann if you could please not tell my family I'm here, I'd appreciate it."

Bill helped Harry set up the tent, and then apparated out, leaving Harry in the center of a ghost town painted red from the setting sun. Sighing, he strolled in to the tent and collapsed face down into the bed, asleep in seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. This one almost didn't get written. I tried yesterday, it it felt like I was forcing it. Went back in today, and my fingers were fumbling all over the keyboard.
> 
> Getting somewhere, though! Finally got Harry back in contact with Grim and Roth, and soon I'll be wrapping up the setup chapters.
> 
> Enjoy! Thank you all for your comments, and comments and criticisms are (still) always welcome!


	7. Be it ever so humble...

June 9, 1994  
The next morning, Harry rose with the dawn, the sounds of nature his alarm clock. Yawning and stretching, he performed his morning rituals (bathroom, a solid scratch, stretches) and stepped out of the tent with a mug of tea in hand, still in his pajamas.

In the early dawn light, the delapidated village looked almost intact, and Harry could now see the former beauty of the place. As the sun poked it's rays over the horizon, Harry observed at a specific ray almost flew down a street to strike the tower, the beam slowly sliding down the sparkling marble monolith before finally touching the fountain itself. Harry did muse that, had the fountain been operating and the tower clean, the beam would have made absolutely beautiful rainbows on the gleamingly white marble.

Strolling around the fountain, mug still in hand, he let his mind be able to observe what it was incapable of the day before due to sheer mental exhaustion. He noted a large number of similarities between this fountain in a magical village and any number of public fountains in the muggle world. There were small jets evenly placed within the rim, and a length of pipe joining them. At the bottom were drains, currently clogged with dirt, and the jets had traces of greenish corrosion on them.

Groaning, Harry finally made it back to the tent. Fishing out a camping chair, he sat down heavily on it, just taking in everything in his surroundings. It was quite peaceful here, and Harry imagined that it would have been anything but if there had been a population in residence.

Finally having finished his tea, he cooked himself some breakfast, fed Hedwig her daily offering of bacon, and sat down with the catalog he'd gotten the day before.

Flipping it open, he stared in awe at the options. "What do you think, Hedwig?" He asked the owl. She seemed to shiver slightly. "Yes, I know it's down to me, but you're my girl first. I have to make sure you're happy to." Hedwig actually rolled her eyes, but still flitted down from her perch and onto a chair back.

Two hours later, Hedwig was on her way to Mr. Harkin with the order. One Swedish military issue infantry pack with brace (as he'd already selected). The exterior would have disillusionment, muggle repelling, the _Cave Inimicum_ charm (to doubly layer invisibility at a bit of a range), Intruder Charm (just in case someone was nearby when Harry was in the bag), and the _Salvio Hexia_ charm to provide a little protection from hostile magics, and the _Protego Totalum_ charm for heavier spells. The bag itself would be nearly indestructable to anything short of dragonfire, and the interior would be blocked from all exterior senses and sensory magics. Finally, a spoken command word would have the bag fly to his hand from anywhere within two miles so that it would be far more difficult to lose or be stolen.

Harry had let his paranoia out to play, and it showed.

Internally was a far more interesting and involved set of choices. In addition to invidualized layout, there were pre-packaged Suite Deals. As Bill had mentioned, outright palaces done up in just about every opulent historical fashion possible were available. From Russian Czar Palace (complete with Amber Room), to British Imperial Governor Manor (with veranda and either real or artificial view), all the way up to and including Arabian Prince (complete with golems built to resemble nubile slaves of all races and genders).

Harry, being the enforcedly humble person that he was, didn't think that he heeded anything too extravagant. Hedwig disagreed, and they had haggled back and forth for over an hour on everything from layout (Harry wanted a two bedroom flat, Hedwig wanted a small palace with owlery), to decorations (Harry was fine with wallpaper and simple carpeting, Hedwig had scratched at the genuine oak and rosewood accents, while outright refusing anything but deep pile carpeting almost everywhere), to bathroom (bizarrely reversed, Harry wanted a massive magical jacuzzi as well as a thirty head shower stall, with a massive sink and Japanese styled super-toilet, while Hedwig felt that a tub with a shower head would suffice, and that the super-toilet was overrated).

Eventually, they agreed on a three story, ten bedroom house, with fully outfitted kitchen (one of the few rooms they both agreed on), living room, dining room, den/library, potions lab, several bathrooms (the master bedroom would be the only one with a super-toilet, any guests would have to make do with the normal facilities), other miscellaneous rooms (that would remain empty until there was a need), and an owlery at the top, complete with remote magical aperture that Hedwig could easily (and without notice) fly in and out of.

Total cost: 46,786 Galleons. 

'Money well spent,' Harry thought to himself, once more relaxing in the chair with another mug of tea, flexing his hand; even after three years, writing with a quill was still bothersome.

He took a little time walking around the village, noting the really terrible conditions of the buildings. Frowning, he wondered aloud if there were magical construction firms, of if he'd have to hire a muggle firm, and then enchant the whole thing from scratch.

The townhouse itself, on the other hand, was a fairly large, unimposing building. It seemed to fit with the overall aesthetic of the village, without feeling like it was lording it's presence over the lesser buildings. As the doors and window shutters were closed (and intact), he didn't want to risk becoming a 'stasis statue', as Bill had mentioned.

Then he stopped, remembering something that Flitwick had said on the first day of his first year. "Remember class. Magic is more than waving a wand and saying words. Three things go into casting a spell: Power, Will, and Intent. If one has no power, all the wand waving in the world won't make a difference. If your will is insufficient to guide the magic, the spell will come off poorly. And if your intent wavers too far, then your spell will come off oddly. The words and wand are not strictly necessary, but they do aid in all three of these requirements. The wand is a lens, focusing your power and will. The words are a focus, directing your will and intent."

Rolling his head back and forth, Harry pondered this for a while. He looked at his wand, and then at the house. His eyes narrowed contemplatively, even as his wand hand moved in a specific pattern, over and over again.

Turning away, he shook his head. "No, I better not tamper with that just... Wait," he said to himself. stopping in front of what Bill had figured was a smithy. He looked at his wand again, and then smirked.

His wand came up and, remembering Flitwick's words, he focused, imagining the results, and then forcefully spoke, " _ **Reparo**_."

Almost instantly, fallen boards began springing into position, reassembling themselves back into a building. About a minute later the motions stopped, and Harry was now looking at a partially rebuilt structure. The repair spell had done nothing about the rot and the missing pieces, but it _had_ managed to reassemble the building into something resembling a smithy. Or, at least, something that was less than a pile of tumbled down, partially rotted timbers and more like a building with a defined layout.

"At least it's the start of something," Harry mused aloud, turning away from the building and heading back to the tent.

After he'd taken in a wonderful lunch, he relaxed in the shade of the tower, considering the previous day. A lot of ground had been covered, and he still wasn't sure what to think of it. The most disappointing had definitely been the rejection of him by his family's vault. He chewed on that for a bit, then wondered _why_ exactly that had been so absolutely vital. "After all," he mused to the tower, "Gringotts has only been around for a few centuries. How did people inherit before bank vaults? There had to have been last survivors of families before me, right? Who can I talk to about that..."

Before the thought could resolve itself, his mind began going on tangents. The quiet surroundings did nothing to curtail the wanderings, and the events of the previous day began to run through his head again.

Clamping his head between his hands, he muttered, "Oh, hell. How do I put this crap together?" Scrubbing at his face, he then asked himself, "What would Hermione do?"

Blinking, he almost instantly had the patently obvious answer. Opening his trunk, he pulled out an ancient, battered three ring binder with pockets. He had no idea where Petunia had gotten the American item from, but he ended up getting it when Vernon declared that Dudley, "wouldn't be contaminated by foreign muck."

Flopping open the Trapper Keeper, he flipped the loose leaf paper to an empty page. Grabbing a ball point pen, he began to make notes.

1\. Sirius had no trial  
2\. Basilisk, DMLE head unaware of petrifications  
3\. Potter Vault rejection on security reasons  
4\. Does the Family Vault count for taking over family line? Is it essential?  
5\. Dursleys: Can sue over abandonment?  
6\. Life Debts: Who owes me and how?  
7\. Grim and Roth doing archaeology, knew grandad. Get stories...  
Examine situation?  
8\. Wait. Bill said Viscount Evans  
9\. Inbreeding in pureblood families? Like Marge does with her bulldog breeding for traits?  
10\. Boy Hero series. Who started that, who profits?  
11\. If Last Scion, check for goblin workaround on family vault  
12\. No bank statements; auditor is looking  
13\. Schedule checking of other properties. Evans properties?  
14\. Acceptable levels of behavior in purebloods: racial slurs are okay?  
15\. Get Fred and George an apology present over the New Dark Lord reaction  
16\. How did Fawkes find me in the Chamber?  
17\. Ask about the missing 20k payment  
18\. Talk to Gerry about tax assessment. No crops, elves, etc on at least one property  
19\. Research Right of Conquest, Hogwarts and Gaunt/Riddle  
20\. Godric's Hollow under stasis: Investigate interior claim  
21\. Write a letter to Dobby asking for help  
22\. Last Scion rulings: what does that entail?  
23\. Try to find history of Diagon Alley pre-Statute/Ministry  
24\. Slipshard's interest in the basilisk. Creepy, but define  
25\. Guy who slapped around the DEs in '74; who was he?  
26\. Right of Conquest reaction: Is the double pulse normal?  
27\. The magic scan from the scar: What causes that reaction?  
28\. Magical construction firms? Do they exist, or is it all inherited or DIY?  
29\. Sirius is Godfather. Is there Godmother?

Harry finally put down the pen, getting up to stretch. Rereading his list, he had to admit that the day before had been... interesting. A little too much all at once, but he was fairly used to matters slamming into him like a flood.

Wandering around the tent, he got himself some water and considered all of the variables. The overall thought of the entire thing was to gather together what he had, figure out how to use what resources were at his fingertips.

Taking a break, he stepped out of the tent and began wandering around the little village. In the noon-day sun, all of the faults of the place became almost exaggerated, like it was a place lain derelict for many decades rather than just one. At least the scent of rot wasn't lingering within the area. He did wonder if the muggle repelling wards were still intact, or if any of the wards were still in effect apart from the trap of the preservation ward over the main house.

Finally, he sat back down in the tent just as Hedwig flew in, dropping off a letter. Harry read it, and then penned response that he would be in on the following Wednesday to pick up the bag from Harkin. He set the envelope next to Hedwig's perch; she'd get to it at her leisure.

Flipping through his list (and regretting that he didn't have access to Hermione and the Hogwarts library), he began pondering each question. Most would take later investigations, or were already being dealt with by other people on his behalf.

So he set down a saparate sheet of paper, and began determining which questions he could personally deal with.

4\. Does the Family Vault count for taking over family line? Is it essential?  
Harry pondered that. After all, family lines had been passed on well before Gringotts came into being. And he doubted that people like Malfoy would want the goblins having anything to do with the rights of succession. Therefore that Family Vault would have to be similar to a family bank account, rather than something inherent to a bloodline.

Then he looked at the drawing that Bill had left behind. "A possible vault under the tower, eh? Have to look that over," he commented, making a note of that.

7\. Grim and Roth doing archaeology, knew grandad. Get stories...  
Examine situation?  
8\. Wait. Bill said Viscount Evans  
Harry decided to wait until the next day for that. He was meeting the pair anyways, and knew that there was a payphone a half a block from the Cauldron.

17\. Ask about the missing 20k payment  
That should be resolved between Gerry and Slipshard easily enough.

19\. Research Right of Conquest, Hogwarts and Gaunt/Riddle  
Time to order more books on a subject that he suddenly felt had been deliberately withheld from him.

18\. Talk to Gerry about tax assessment. No crops, elves, etc on at least one property  
Alerting the already investigating tax assessor would be a good way to steer clear of future difficulties. Yet _another_ thing that Vernon had been correct on!

20\. Godric's Hollow under stasis: Investigate interior claim  
This would be a tricky one. Finding out who had control over national memorial sites would be tricky. Getting them to let him in to collect family effects would run into the inertia of bureaucracy. It occurred to him that the missing 20k might be useful as leverage...

21\. Write a letter to Dobby asking for help  
Harry quickly wrote out another letter, and rested the envelope against Hedwig's perch. He then reminded himself to purchase more pork products for offerings. As well as see if she wanted to range out from just pork. And find out what wasn't good for an owl.

22\. Last Scion rulings: what does that entail?  
Stick that one with #19, more books to order.

Sighing as he leaned back, he took a deep pull of water from his mug. It was looking like his summer was going to suck from all the research he was going to have to do.

Then he added another line to the list.

30\. Do I need a solicitor?

Finally done with the mental questions, he looked around the tent. As a temporary house, it was fine. The bag would most likely be divine once he got it arranged how he wanted it (and so long as Hedwig didn't change her mind. Again).

Fishing through his trunk, he managed to unearth various owl order catalogs that the twins had given him over the course of the last year. He'd just put them away, intending to look at them later, only 'later' never quite came. He goggled at the sheer range of products offered. Each one was like a Woolworth Christmas catalog in size. Each catalog ranged from potions ingredients and tools, to rare plants, to exotic materials, to books and writing instruments, to high-end magical testing equipment (he was fairly certain he'd seen a similar catalog layout on his fifth grade teacher's desk; the woman substituted occasionally as a high school chemistry teacher).

Now having more of a baseline to judge what the magical world had to offer, he began to realize exactly how limited of an education Hogwarts really was. He remembered the classrooms on the Marauder's Map well. There was a classroom for Ghoul Studies and another for Alchemy, but not one for Enchanting or regular chemistry. No classes for finance, or on the government and how it worked. He remembered Slipshard muttering about the loss of an etiquette course, and marveled at how muggleborns weren't given at least a basic understanding of the new, well, country they suddenly found themselves citizens of.

"Huh. I have to wonder what other schools teach, and how they go about it," he murmured aloud. He then wondered exactly what other schools were out there. He remembered Hagrid claiming that "Hogwarts is the finest magical school in Britain!", but he'd never heard of any other magical schools in Britain, given that the phrase hinted that there _were_ other (lesser) magical schools.

Looking out the front door of the tent, he mentally bemoaned the risk of taking out his Firebolt. A relaxing flight would be great, and would be the easiest way to check out the top of the tower, not to mention the townhouse; the collapsed roof might have holes to peer through. Sadly, he had no idea of how to check if any of the old wards were still intact.

"Argh," he exclaimed, running his fingers through his hair, his frustrated ire growing once more at all of the unanswered questions. Then he dropped his hands, and went for a shower.

Twenty minutes later (and much calmer; a long, hot shower does wonders for one's relaxation) he flopped back down into the chair, absently noting that Hedwig, as well as both letters were gone. Sighing, he mentally congratulated himself on getting at least _one_ item on his list taken care of.

Then he marveled at the fact that there had been no Ministry owl dropping off a letter about his use of Underage Magic on the smithy. 

31\. Determine how the Ministry tracks underage magic use

Shaking his head, he began reconsidering his list. On the question of family succession, he pondered who he knew that might be knowledgeable in such matters, _and_ that he could trust. Arthur Weasley would know, but he couldn't trust Molly to not go shrieking to Dumbledore about Harry's current situation. Bill _might_ know (being the eldest), but Harry felt that he'd taken up quite a lot of Bill's time and effort, and didn't want to be a burden (even though Bill had told Harry that it was fine to owl him).

"Who else do I know," he mused aloud, tapping his pen on the arm of the chair. "Malfoy would know, but he hates my guts. Granted, at worst he would tell me to take a flying leap off a broom. At best, he'd give me the information, if only to have a big favor to hold over my head..."

Harry then stopped, wide-eyed as he stared into space. Snatching up a roll of parchment, he pulled out a quill and inkwell.

_Dear Neville,_   
_I realize that we haven't been the closest of people, but we at least get along as dorm mates, and I have begun to realize just how insular of a group I've been limiting myself to over the last three years. I deeply apologize for that, and hope that we can get closer as friends._   
_Hopefully your summer has been less eventful than mine. Instead of my Uncle's house, I am now staying at one of the Potter properties in Staffordshire. I'm sure the village was beautiful at one point; now it's a cluster of almost ruined buildings. I don't know what I'll do with it all. Raze it all and start over? Try and salvage what I can? No idea._   
_Anyways, I was hoping to pick your brain about the laws of family succession. I know that you're the Longbottom heir, and I just found out (yesterday was a nasty day full of Finding Things Out) that I can take over the headship of the Potter family. Unfortunately, I have no idea how to go about that. The main Potter vault at Gringotts locked itself down for security reasons (the auditor that was with me is looking into that), but I don't know if the family vault is important to succession._   
_Crap. There's a ton of stuff that I don't know. I know nothing about my family apart from bits about my parents, and more recently a bit about my mum's dad. I know that I told you about Sirius, and how he's my godfather and was framed. But since he's on the run, I can't really ask him._   
_It really makes me wonder about just how much has been withheld from me, you know? I mean, you grew up with all this stuff. You're probably completely up and running on the rules of succession, estate management, social functions, etc. How badly in the dark am I, Neville? And who's been keeping me there?_   
_Argh. Sorry, I'm rambling. Been doing a lot of that over the last couple of days. With time to actually think, I've started asking a lot of really uncomfortable questions of myself and the Wizarding World. I've even pulled a Hermione, and made a list of all the questions!_   
_Anyways, even if you can't help me, let's keep writing. The last couple of summers without mail from my friends weren't happy, and I'm really wanting to share my time with someone I can trust (it seems to be a rare thing these days)._   
_That's all from me. Owl me back, and we'll figure something out._   
_Always,_   
_Harry Potter_

Rolling that letter up, he set that by Hedwig's perch; he knew she'd get to it as soon as she'd rested a bit. He then went for another walk around the village.

The early afternoon light in the warmth of summer gave the ruined village a sleepy feel, as if the former occupants were merely napping away the heat of midday, rather than having been long deceased (or possibly scattered; he had no idea what had happened during the war with Voldemort).

Steadily moving from cobbled street to cobbled street (and finally noticing that absolutely no grass or other plants had taken root in the cracks between the stones), he counted three concentric circles of buildings. Wondering just how far back the Potters went, he did imagine that this would have been quite a bustling community during the Middle Ages, or even just before the Statute of Secrecy went into effect.

As he neared the tower, his mind wandered to a question that had been niggling at him, only slightly formed, for a couple of years. Namely, why _hadn't_ the ICW intervened during Voldemort's takeover? The Death Eaters had been on the verge of outright taking over the Ministry, muggles were dying in droves, the Statute was (if what little he'd been able to read on it was factual) in dire danger of being irreparably shattered, and yet the ICW just stood there? It made no sense to him.

Finally in front of the tower, he paced around it yet again, taking in what scant details existed. Frowning, he hauled himself bodily into the dry fountain, rubbing his hand along the marble. That's when his hand felt very tiny ridges in the white marble.

Putting his head alongside the tower, he let his eyes examine the marble along it's side. There, in plain view (from a particular perspective), were etched series' of runes. Slowly sliding his face up and down while slowly walking around the perimeter, he realized that the runes covered every millimeter of the tower that he could see. Pulling his face away, he closed his eyes, running his fingers along the fine lines even as he tried to visualize the shaped in his mind.

Sighing in frustration (his sense of touch wasn't quite up to the task of allowing him to visualize such fine symbols), he wondered for a moment if he'd already be aware of exactly what the runes meant if he'd been raised by his parents.

Snarling at his (perceived self-) failure, he dropped out of the fountain, swearing in a gradually accelerating fury. Whipping himself away from the fountain, he stalked towards the house, rage and frustration bleeding off of him. If anyone had been present, they would have seen the grass rippling away from him in pulses as his lack of self-control allowed his raw magic to physically manifest in time with his heartbeat.

Standing before the main doorway, he gathered himself, slowly bringing his breathing back under control. Finally reestablishing his iron self-control (even as his head throbbed from the stress), he took a long look at the door itself.

It had to be hundreds of years old, massive oak planks, banded in iron, set with brass rivets. The handle was a knob set in the center of the door, and the hinges were nowhere to be seen; clearly the door was set up to open inwards (if it didn't open in some odd, wizarding method that would sodomize the laws of physics). Making his way slowly around the house, he noted that none of the windows were at ground level; all of them were above the ground floor level. The terraced house was clearly set up in an earlier age, as instead of brick or wood, it was made of cut, dense stone without mortar.

Around the side, he saw what appeared to be a cellar door with a more modern, rusted padlock keeping it closed. Around the back was a large patio, the imported American redwood planks looking nearly new; clearly not all of the maintenance magics were expired. Three sets of glass double doors met the edge of the patio with the townhouse, with curtains drawn on the inside. Harry transfigured a few stones into mice, and tried to get them to move onto the patio. The mice being, well, _mice_ , scattered into the overgrown grass.

Cancelling the spell, he sighed, then rubbed at his face. In his foolishness (and public revilement), he had forgotten one of his abilities.

Transfiguring several stick into garden snakes, he then ordered them in parseltongue to wander over the patio, and investigate the door. When none of them were hit with the stasis magic Bill had mentioned, he finally stepped onto the wood, slowly approaching the glass doors. Shading his eyes with a hand, he tried to peer in around the curtains, but they were drawn too broadly to see anything. Ordering the snakes to search the perimeter of the house for any small opening, but not to enter, he resumed his pacing around the house.

The other end had what appeared to be an old coal chute, also closed with another rusted, modernish padlock (if he had to guess, the padlocks were from the 1970s). Leaving that be, he finally ended up back at the front door of the three story house.

Sitting down on the front step, Harry scrubbed at his face in frustration even as he considered his options. On one hand, the house wasn't going anywhere under it's currently preserved state. On the other, he couldn't (probably) enter without becoming a statue. On one hand, the tower was clearly a magical focus point with something underneath of it. On the other, he had no idea what to do with this information.

The snakes returned to him, letting him know that they had found no holes small enough for even insects to get through. Thanking the snakes, he told them to enjoy the rest of their lives, and all of them gleefully cheered at the 'generosity of the Speaker' even as they slithered off into the grass.

Slouching off towards his tent, dark thoughts swirled in his head, his only notice of this being the slowly rebuilding headache. Dismissing the discomfort out of long experience, he stopped in front of the tower once more.

Looking up, he wondered what was at the top. He wondered about the runes, and the fountain below. Turning, he looked at the layout of the village, wondering if there was a specific purpose to it's design; it seemed engineered, rather than an organically settled and grown community.

Stretching, and then sipping at his water, he was about to clamber back into the fountain when he heard the sound of Hedwig arriving into the tent. Smiling to himself, he wandered back in to see Hedwig taking a long drink.


	8. Back to the Alley!

Harry walked over to scratch Hedwig just as she preferred. The owl churred, leaning into the scratching after a middlingly long flight. 

"Any problems, sweetie?" Hedwig shook her head, even as she presented her leg. Untying the small scroll, he read over the receipt. Nodding, he walked over to the table. Scribbling out a short note, he rolled it up and walked back to Hedwig. "Hedwig, this one goes to Gringotts; it's the permission to transfer the funds to Mister Harkin. And then this one goes to Neville. Can you get that done soon, or will you need some rest?"

Hedwig glared at him as if he was daring to call her capabilities into question. Snatching up both scrolls, she gobbled down one of her snacks and took wing once more.

Harry laughed as he sat down. "Boy-Who-Lived, Defeater of Voldemort, Savior of the Wizarding World. And he loses arguments with his owl. I wonder if anyone would believe that if it was in the _Daily Prophet_?"

Shaking his head, he cracked open some of the catalogs. He then closed them, opening up his trunk and pulling out some ancient, battered textbooks. Not many people were aware that, while he had gone along with Ron into Care of Magical Creatures and Divination for the 'easy OWL', he had also been, in his spare time, been studying Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. While not the retentive genius that Hermione was, he was no slouch when it came to absorbing new information. The libraries around Surrey had been his refuge from his cousin's friends, and one couldn't simply hang out in a library and not read a book.

The ancient books had been found in an abandoned classroom on the fourth floor. Most students knew, but didn't care, that there were many random items left behind by previous generations literally lying around, scattered throughout Hogwarts like prizes in a treasure hunt. The Weasely twins knew, and had directed him to various points of resources that they'd been using for their own experiments and projects.

One such resource was said classroom, buried in two inches of dust; Harry had estimated that it had lain unused for over a century. The bookshelf had been packed to the brim with various reference books, and he'd been using it as his personal lending library. He felt it unfair to future years of innovative (nosy, curious, bored) Hogwarts students to simply take them. So he would grab a few, read and take notes, then return and swap out the books for different ones.

The four he'd taken for the summer included one on Advanced Divination (and not the crock taught by Trelawney, although Harry had to admit that the sherry-soaked drama queen did know her methods), one on Arithmantic Spell Research, a reference to Runic Structure Matrices, and a very, _very_ aged tome on NEWT-level potions. The first three had been printed (he'd done his research) in the last two centuries. The fourth book, judging by the difference in brewing methods, was no less than six hundred years old.

Flipping open the Runes book, he began reading up on how rune clusters reinforced each other, and how one of the most time-honored methods of examining such a cluster was to take a rubbing of it. He considered the difficulties of taking a rubbing of a tower a hundred feet tall and twenty feet thick. Setting that concept aside, he read up on how the runes interconnected on Wizarding cold boxes, brooms, and fire prevention wards, and why the interconnections were so similar on each of the enchanted items in question.

After a couple of hours of this, Harry's stomach made it's displeased presence known. Setting aside the research, he cooked himself up a light, cold supper; anything too heavy would make him ill in the heat, and he'd been sweating too much for anything hot.

After quieting his stomach, he wandered around the tent, now noticing how the runes were sewn into the fabric and engraved into the poles. He'd never really noticed that, and as he compared his recollections, he realized that Hogwarts didn't use any of these things. Runes extract water weren't used, neither were runes generating a Vanishing charm. Instead Hogwarts had a massive sewer system (big enough for a _fucking basilisk_ to slither through), and he was fairly certain that the Chamber of Secrets was the primary water purification and supplier for the castle.

Thinking of the Chamber of Secrets made him review his performance there a year prior. He had no combat knowledge, only a couple of years' worth of magical knowledge, and he'd faced down Voldemort twice? And Lucius Malfoy immediately after?

Scowling, his mind wandered over to wonder why _he_ was having to fight the holdovers of a war that had ended over a decade before. None of the previous issues that had allowed the Blood War to begin had been changed, the rich, corrupt purebloods were at the top of the pile and nobody had taken the opportunity to clean house? Was Dumbledore Chief Warlock then? If not, who was? Who dropped the ball and took bribes to let Death Eaters get away with mass murder?

He stopped himself pacing, unclenched his jaw, and began doing his breathing exercises. He mentally noted that he hadn't had to do them this often since he was eight. Noticing again that Hogwarts was bad for his self-control, he did wonder that he hadn't completely lost his temper several times there and did something to someone. Was it fear of expulsion? Fear of being sent back to Privet Drive? Fear of disappointment by people he (mostly, sort of) respected?

Breathing deeply, he grasped the central tent pole with both hands, gradually forcing his mind to still. Self-control had been a vital survival skill in Surrey; he couldn't afford to lose that control, and recent events were forcing the issue of years of repressed emotion.

Finally, he flopped back into the chair, and began the age-old process of distracting himself with Divination lore.  
*****  
June 10, 1994

Hary slowly crawled to consciousness, his neck and back aching. Blinking (and noticing that he could see), he realized that he'd fallen asleep in the chair. Clearly all the of the raging from the day before had exhausted him.

Slowly stretching, he looked around the tent. Hedwig was on her perch, trembling occasionally as she slept; Harry knew she did that when she dreamed. He also saw a roll of parchment at the foot of her stand. Picking it up, Harry read,

_Dear Harry,_   
_I was just settling in from school when your owl dropped off the letter. It's good to hear you're doing okay. And what happened with your relatives? I caught the feeling that you didn't like it there, but you never talk about it._   
_As for your 'insular group of friends', there's probably a lot of factors in that. We can discuss that later, if you want. None of it's pleasant, and there's a lot of finger-pointing involved. Besides, I am more than happy to sit down and talk with you. We may have gotten off to a bit of a rough start, but we've gotten closer over the last couple of years._   
_I'll be honest, mate, there really is a ton of stuff you should have been made aware of. Family succession is the biggest item, but also old alliances and such. The Potters may not have been political powerhouses, but they were well respected in the magical community. Well, until the whole Sacred Twenty-Eight garbage came out. The Potters got left out because of their stance on defending muggles. I have a few books I can loan you on etiquette and such, if you want. However, being a muggle-raised half-blood can work in your favor. After all, the Boy-Who-Lived (and yes, I know how you hate that title) can be expected to not have to obey every little detail of decorum in most of our society. The title, plus your known background, can smooth a lot of ruffled feathers there._   
_The Gringotts vault isn't essential to family succession. Generally, it's handed down from head to chosen successor, but I do know how it's roughly done in the absence; we're both in the same position there, except that Gran is the regent for House Longbottom. I'm not sure if you have a regent managing your house affairs, or who they might be._   
_Generally speaking, you have to find the Seat of Power for your family. Here it's Longbottom Manor, and Gran says (I hope you don't mind, but I asked her for advice) that the old Potter Seat was in Orkney. Apparently that's where the Potters originated, and where their family merged with the Peverells. If you have a property there, Gran is betting that that's where you'll have to go._   
_I have no idea what the Succession Rites will be. Since every family's is different, I can't help you with that. But odds are pretty good that the family magicks will make things self-evident._   
_As for word about your family, I remember the picture album that Hagrid made up for you. You might want to owl him about how to get in touch with the contributors, if they were friends of your parents in school. As for your mum's side, again, I don't know. Umm, good luck with it?_   
_I can't say I blame you for rambling. I'm betting that it took this long for enough of the shine to rub off, and the magical world can get pretty ugly once you're hip deep in it. Once the fake gold finish rubs off, you learn pretty fast that it's a lot of lead just under the surface._   
_I'm glad you came to this realization on your own, as I'd hate to be the one to have to do it to you. I dread the poor sap who has to do that to Hermione. Oh, wait! We have a HERO to do it for us! He'll probably survive the wrath of Right Cross Granger (as some of the Slytherins have been calling her)! Take that bludger for the team, mate!_   
_I have to get going. Summer homework won't do itself (and I'm surprised that Snape gave us less summer work than Lupin. He resigned; he had no right to give us homework!_   
_Owl me later. We should get together, have a proper sit down for what is looking like an unpleasant discussion._   
_Always,_   
_Neville Longbottom_

Harry set down the letter. Neville had definitely come through for him in a way that he hadn't expected. And now that he was considering it, Dame Longbottom could probably be added to the list of people he might be able to trust.

Frowning again, he did have to quickly go over the last three years. It was almost as if he was being shoved towards a view that adults in authority couldn't be trusted. Snape was a douche, McGonagall was ineffective (the events of his first year still rang loud, from how she had simply dismissed their concerns over the attempted theft of the Stone), Dumbledore's hands were tied on a lot of levels (and he was beginning to wonder just how tightly the elderly wizard's hands _really_ were, versus how tight he made them appear to be), Hagrid was far too dedicated to Dumbledore (Harry could see why, but the man was almost fanatical), and Fudge was too inept and corrupt to authorize an investigation.

His eyes flicked back down to the letter. ' _After all, the Boy-Who-Lived (and yes, I know how you hate that title) can be expected to not have to obey every little detail of decorum in most of our society. The title, plus your known background, can smooth a lot of ruffled feathers there_.'

"Huh," he mused at his sleeping owl. "I wonder what I can do with my title..."

Sensing that he was going to have a very cramped hand soon, he set the letter down and added another item to his list.  
32\. A letter to the Prophet from the Boy-Who-Lived? Contents?

Groaning, he dressed, went outside for a jog, and then came back in for breakfast and a shower. Now fed and in clean clothes (and reminding himself that he actually _needed_ to get himself some properly fitting clothing apart from school attire), he grabbed his money and book bags (now full of various notes) and stepped outside into the late dawn light.

Once again, a solitary ray of sunshine blazed it's way down the tower. Now that Harry knew to look for it, he could see the almost unnoticable flickerings of the runes as the beam crawled over them. Walking up, Harry waited until the beam reached a point that he could easily see.

Now up close (and his eyes squinting against the glare), he saw that the individual lines of runes were visibly shifting slightly in the sun, almost as if they were drawing energy from the sunlight itself. Harry figured that it might be a variant ward charging method, possibly a family held secret that wasn't shared. He also pulled out his notebook and jotted down that he needed a way to determine what wards were still in existence in the village.

He activated his portkey, and then seconds later it felt like he'd been slammed into the pavement by a massive hand. Slowly getting up, he repaired his glasses, reset his nose, cleared away the blood, and looked around.

Early morning Diagon Alley, and the bustle of merchants taking in stock and setting up to open for the day filled the shopping district. And, as expected, just over there was the fried pizza guy, making money hand over fist as he efficiently served the line of workers doing the morning deliveries.

Slowly, very slowly, Harry made his way shakily towards Gringotts, marvelling at how every method of magical travel except for brooms didn't seem to agree with him. His bones ached, his muscles throbbed, and his face was bruised (and he made another mental note to learn about healing magics). Crossing the threshold, he bowed slightly to the guards.

Making his was to the currently empty teller station, he waited for someone to appear. A goblin finally did. "What is your business today, wizard?" he practically snarled out.

"Harry Potter to meet Auditor Slipshard at his convenience, sir," Harry responded politely.

"Through that door, Mister Potter," the goblin nastily (but immediately) replied. "I trust you know the route."

"Thank you, sir," Harry responded, bowing slightly before turning and heading towards Sharpshard's office.  
*****  
Two days before...  
"You don't understand!" Slipshard snarled out. "The legal agreement with Potter will be to our benefit, and it violates no treaty agreements. We have every reason to assist the young man!"

Slipshard was standing before the Gringotts Board of Directors. He was in the center of the room, spotlit from above to leave the sides of the room in shadow. A large, semi-circular table stretched around the room, and vague figures could be made out in the shadows.

"The human wizard may have had a good idea," one voice reedily whined out, "but that doesn't mean that Gringotts has to work with it any more than necessary."

"You don't understand! Potter gave us an unassailable entry with muggleborns! The very populace who comprises over half of Magical Europe! The purebloods couldn't pay Fudge enough to keep this kind of taxable money from flowing like heart's blood. The additional benefit of genealogical analysis could also be politically active. Imagine, some old pureblood family who treats us as a necessary evil, suddenly ousted as the family head by some muggleborn who didn't realize that he was the descendant of a main branch?" There was much murmuring around the table at that. "The beauty of it is that _we,_ the goblins of Gringotts, would be seen in much of a higher respect by the muggleborns. 

"You've all seen it!" Slipshard shouted, continuing. "The expressions of awe, the politeness, the genuinely expressed thanks of the muggleborn children before they get to Hogwarts. Where they are _influenced_ to see us as lesser creatures by a speciesist ghost, teachers, and pureblood students, all of whom tell them that, 'No, you're doing it wrong. This is how it's done!' And since they're so young, they don't know how to argue that, 'Oh, wait, but the goblins were so _helpful_ , so _understanding_.' This alone makes us beholden to Potter.

"Secondly, he just claimed, not two hours ago, Right of Conquest in my office! He is now the head of the Ancient House of Slytherin! That, combined with being the Boy-Who-Lived, should be _more_ than enough for us to, at the _very least_ , be polite to him!"

"Bah," called out another, deeper voice. "He's a human wizard of an old bloodline. Why should we believe for a second that he won't turn on us when it's convenient?"

"Because," Slipshard smirked nastily, "he isn't. He's _muggle raised_. He lacks the preconceived notions that purebloods are raised to believe. Potter doesn't see himself as superior. He came to my office and asked a lot of questions that none of us would expect from a thirteen year old wizard. He understood that a 65% licensing percentage was extremely odd, he was polite, intelligent, and far more courteous than could be expected given education."

"The Board is still not seeing the point in coddling a young wizard, Auditor," a gravelly voice called out from Slipshard's left. "We have seen it before. The betrayals, the wars, the divisions of species. How are we to be certain that the human will keep his faith with us?"

Slipshard groaned, then took a deep breath. "I'm not telling you to mine before you shore. I'm telling you to follow the soundings. I am doing the spelunking, and delivering to you, the Board, the soundings I've discovered. Potter has basically licensed us a pre-dug gold mine, and is now the head of a Hogwarts house. As the Boy-Who-Lived, with a little coaching he can be brought around to do the right thing by us, _so long as we do the same by him_! Potter is slow to trust, and has excellent instincts. Naturally angry and distrustful, the young man will be viciously loyal to his friends and allies.

"He journeyed into Slytherin's private chambers to save the sister of his friend. If the girl hadn't been taken, he wouldn't have gone. But because his friend's sister was taken, he entered the Chamber of Secrets and slew not only the thousand year old basilisk within, but also some sort of memory of the Dark Lord. Oh, would you like to know his name?" Slipshard smirked out at the shocked whispering. "Tom Marvolo Riddle. Head Boy at Hogwarts in 1945, the year before that he came into the bank to claim the property belonging to the Gaunt line, of which he inherited through his mother."

Silence reigned within the chamber as Slipshard wrapped up. "Finally realizing that Potter gave us more _today_ than we'd been able to discover in thirty years? Good! Now, what say the Board on my proposal?"

Several minutes of muttering happened as Slipshard rolled his eyes. As with any bureaucracy, the Board was dragging it's feet.

Finally, the gravelly voiced one spoke. "Very well, Slipshard. We will tentatively accept your proposal to support Harry Potter in his efforts. But heed us well: if he betrays us, he will follow you in death."

Slipshard waved his hand casually. "Put the knives away. You can't threaten me since I audit your accounts, you puffed up ore slag. Just let me and mine handle Potter. I truly believe that us being allied to Mister Potter will do nothing but good for us, and him."

Slipshard stalked out, clearly unhappy with them. As soon as the door closed and locked, the lights came up revealing a semicircle of thirteen goblins, the places before them covered in parchment from the copious notes they'd taken.

"He's right, you know," the reedy voiced one stated. "We've never had any indication that Potter has anything against us."

The deep voiced one nodded. "True, true. And Potter's idea was a stroke of genius. I just hope that we don't get caught unawares in a cave-in from the reactions of the various governments."

A breathy voiced goblin spoke up with, "I don't believe it will be terribly bad. Some political upheaval is to be expected, particularly in Britain, but our branches in the Commonwealth nations, as well as on the continent, will easily be able to weather this. Magical Britain sees itself as the center of the world; it's past time the inbred fools realize what the British Crown has for decades."

There was a moment of silence.

"Wait, did he say a _basilisk_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting out of hand. It's flowing well enough, but there are just too darn many questions for Harry to be asking. This first arc was meant to be a reasonably sized setup so that I could get to other topics in the overall storyline, and leave a bunch of this until later. And here I am, Chapter 8, 2 days in to the story. Man, I've gotta get to a good spot for time skips.  
> And yeah, 2 chapters in one day. Chapter 7 took most of the weekened, while 8 got hammered out today. It's weird how sometimes it flows, and sometimes it doesn't.  
> Thanks for reading, everyone, and thanks for the words of encouragement.  
> Comments and criticisms are always welcome.


	9. A View of the Past

"Mister Potter, what happened to your face?"

Harry sighed, slumping down in the chair. "Good morning, Auditor Slipshard. I landed on my face when I portkeyed in."

"That can't be comfortable. Do you need a healer before we begin?"

"I'm fine," he shrugged. "It's not like it's the first time my nose was broken or anything."

"I see," Slipshard ground out, clearly not convinced. "So, with that out of the way...

"I have been directed to involve myself with your account a bit more. No, Mister Potter," Slipshard interrupted Harry by holding up a hand, "this doesn't mean that I'm being forced into this. It's simply being assigned to your particular file. Are you with me so far?"

"I think so, sir."

"Excellent. Tax Auditor Leighton was by yesterday, asking for your account records. We gave them to him knowing that he was the one you authorized to investigate the missing twenty thousand. He and I had quite the productive chat over the entire matter." Harry cringed internally at that. He remembered the holy and unholy zeal from both auditors, and resolved to be purely legal about his future money handling.

"Shortly after that, legal got in touch with me. The cross-reference library of vault signatures is proceeding with all due haste. We have employees on every continent working full time on this. We're hoping to have something workable by August, and Cursebreaker Weasley is working out the spellcraft for the publically viewable indexing.

"Now that those two pieces of business are out of the way, do you have any questions before we get to new business?"

"I do, sir," Harry answered, fishing his list out of his pocket. First, has there been any progress on why I'm not getting my statements from Gringotts?"

"Ah. No, not yet," the goblin snarled out. "We don't know why _you_ aren't getting them, although they _are_ being delivered. We just haven't been able to figure out to whom. We've sent other mail larded with various tracking magicks to you as tests, but I am assuming you didn't get them, otherwise you would have contacted us as we requested." Harry nodded in affirmation. "Have you ever had an issue with your mail before?"

Harry blinked. "Just once. A house elf had been intercepting my mail a couple of years ago, but he promised to stop doing that. The only time..." Harry's voice trailed off, a scowl beginning to form on his face. "Hang on. I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, right? Where the bloody hell is my fan mail? If I'm so damn famous, where were ten years of presents and well wishes?" Harry shot to his feet and began to pace. "I'm like the biggest celebrity after bloody Merlin, and I lived with my muggle relatives? With almost no contact with the magical world, except for..." Harry paused in his pacing, eyes widening. "Except for random people on the street, all dressed outlandishly, who thanked me, shook my hand, and wandered off."

Harry swiveled, looking Slipshard in the eye. "No mail for a decade, the only contact I get is from my friends and Hogwarts, and before that random magicals on the street _instantly_ recognized me while I grew up. Who was keeping them informed?" Harry demanded, pacing again. "Who was watching me? Who the hell keeps fucking up my life?" Harry growled out, fists clenched as his feet slammed into the stone floor.

Slipshard watched the entire rant, taking notes as he did. He hadn't come to these conclusions before, but it was obvious that Harry had been chewing on these ideas for some time. And then he watched as Harry collapsed to his knees, clutching at his head as his face writ out an expression of extreme pain.

Holding up a hand, through gritted teeth Harry said, "It'll go away. Gotta get myself back under control. Give me a minute."

Slowly, Harry got himself calmer, and sat back down in his chair. Concern lacing his voice, Slipshard asked, "How long has this sort of thing been going on?"

"Couple of days now," Harry replied, massaging his forehead. "Started happening after I got to the village. When I get too angry, instead of a panic attack liked I used to, I get a short migraine. I should probably see someone about it."

"Yes. Yes you should. Also, I have written down everything you mentioned. These are all excellent questions. Are there more?"

"Um, hang on," Harry mumbled out as he picked his list up off of the floor. "Ah. Did anyone have an idea on that scan Bill did of my scar?"

"Not yet," Slipshard commented, flipping open a couple of files. "We have people with masteries in Alchemy, Arithmancy, and even Blood Magic looking into it. This is one of those things that will take a considerable amount of time to figure out."

"Right. Makes sense," Harry breathed, nodding. "Next one. I remember the goblin who first showed me my trust vault said that Gringotts performs regular inspections on vault interiors every ten years." Slipshard nodded at that. "Since you know that I am who I say I am, can the protections on the family vault be overriden?"

Slipshard leaned back in his chair. To the best of his knowledge, the only people who had ever requested such a thing were individuals who had no business in the vault to begin with. Or the Ministry. Usually, it was the Ministry.

"That," Slipshard slowly pronounced, "is something that I'll have to send up the chain. There are a lot of regulations that would have to be reviewed for that. I'm not saying that we can't do it, I'm just uncertain on whether we're allowed."

"That's fair, sir. I really just wanted to see about the possibility. Last prepared question for now, sir. You seemed overly interested in the basilisk. May I ask why?"

"Oh, Mister Potter," Slipshard chuckled out, "a twelve year old boy killed a basilisk with a sword. _Of course_ I, and any other goblin, would be intensively curious. Slaying a basilisk in single combat, even while it was blinded, is no small feat even for seasoned professionals. For a preteen to pull off such a feat is _phenomenal_! No magic, no technology, just a child and a sword of goblin silver. Astounding!

"And if _all that_ weren't enough to be impressive, the basilisk was a thousand years old, the legendary Monster of Slytherin! Slain in it's very lair during the course of pure heroism? All of that merely adds to your slowly growing legend. And then, after all is said and done, finally you claim Right of Conquest over not only the beast, but the entire bloodline of the beast's creator? Some muggles have a word for this, Mister Potter: Epic."

"I was... I mean, I just..." Harry stammered out, clearly confused by this reaction.

"Mister Potter," Slipshard began in a kinder tone of voice, "what you did was phenomenal, outstanding. You should take pride in such outstanding accomplishments."

"I see. I... I'll try, sir."

"Good lad. Of course," Slipshard spoke, changing his tone to something more business-like, "Gringotts is intensely interested in negotiating over the remains."

"Why would a bank be interested in a snake that's been dead for more than a year?" Harry asked, honestly mystified.

"Given what you told me, given the size and age of the specimen, and the setting of near freezing temperatures, added to the fact that the sheer toxicity of the corpse would drive off not only scavengers, but also most all manner of biological germs that are responsible for breaking down a corpse, expert field renderers are fairly certain that most of the animal can be harvested. Certainly the fangs, bones and hide. The internal organs are iffy, and after a year the meat would have aged enough to be properly edible to a few magical species."

Harry blinked, rolling that over in his head. On one hand, he didn't really care what happened to the thing; he had been happy enough to dismiss it before today's meeting. On the other hand, he had no idea what value a dead basilisk carried, and he was supposed to be getting his life in order...

"What all can be done with the carcass, sir?"

"The hide makes for excellent, if extremely heavy, armor," Slipshard grinned, seeing Harry's change of heart writ large across his face. "The bones can be made into anything, however weapons are the norm, as the entire body carries some taint of the creature's venom. The fangs are the same, except moreso. Basilisk venom is invariably in short supply around the world, and a specimen the size you have described would have several gallons, at least. Various internal organs are used for a great many potions, and the creature's heartstrings would make for a potent wand. You would definitely want a wand custom made with one of those. As it's conqueror, the wand wouldn't be able to refuse you. The meat is seen as a delicacy by about a dozen magical species in Europe. It has to be aged and treated before consumption, but again, given the size, we estimate somewhere in the line of five or six tons in total. By running proportions, we estimate roughly seventy percent of the beast's mass is muscle, so at least three tons is dense, tasty muscle."

"Okay. I can see your point. But... how would we get it out of Hogwarts? I don't think that the Headmaster will just let me nip in and out."

"Hrm. Good point," Slipshard admitted, his eagerness having pushed him past several significant issues. "Perhaps... Possibly... Tell me, Mister Potter, do you know of any ways into the castle that the staff might miss?"

Harry felt an unusual sensation, one of eager excitement with an undercurrent of trepidation. He'd been too stressed by circumstances at Hogwarts to properly feel it; he always put it down to adrenalin. But now, feeling it properly, in full for the first time, he had to admit to himself that it felt really good, and he wasn't sure why. He was fairly certain that all of his questions had something to do with it, but since he hadn't gotten all of his questions solidified, only a vague sense of purpose accompanied the sensation.

"I do," Harry began, "but I don't think I could smuggle in a troupe of skinners and such. Might there be..." Harry's words trailed off as his mind threw itself back a couple of days. "Wait. You mentioned that, as the Head of a founder house, I should be able to manipulate the wards, yeah?"

"That's correct."

"What if... What if I went in through a secret passage, entered the chamber, and grabbed ahold of the wards enough to let an outgoing portkey go off?"

"That... is a very interesting idea," Slipshard grinned out, making notes. "We'll have to get you some practical training on wards and how they work, allow a few days for you to be able to get in undetected..."

"Getting in is easy," Harry interrupted. "I have some inherited family stuff that will take care of that. Although I'll want to go somewhere to have some of it checked for tracking spells, someone I can trust. Too many people have too much interest in the Boy-Who-Lived," Harry explained at Slipshard's raised eyebrow, "and I'm pretty sure neither I nor Gringotts wants Witch Weekly printing that Harry Potter had some spellwork removed from an old family heirloom."

"Excellent point, and your other point is made. I'll not ask about your heirlooms. Hrm. Would you trust Weasley to do it under his confidentiality contract restrictions?"

"I don't see a problem with that," Harry said, rolling it around in his head. "So, getting in is easy, learn about wards and portkeys... What about being able to talk to each other at range?"

"Good idea. I had heard rumors of various artifacts, and of course there is the message capability of the Patronus Charm," Slipshard began.

"Wait, the Patronus Charm? It can deliver messages? I thought it only drove off dementors and lethifolds."

"Ah. Yes, Albus Dumbledore discovered that some years back. As Gringotts has precisely four magicals that can cast it, we have no idea how to go about using that function."

"Damn. Professor Lupin taught me the charm, but he didn't mention it. He might not have known either..." Harry trailed off, considering that. "Then again, Lupin didn't mention that he knew my dad in school until I confronted him about it. Why wouldn't he mention something like that? And... wait." Pulling out a pen, he added another item to his list.

33\. Where was Lupin for ten years?

"Sorry about that, sir. I add things to my list of questions as they come to me."

"An excellent way of doing things, young man. As for communications, I'm sure some of our field personnel have ideas and methods that an auditor wouldn't have any business knowing. It's just not my field. But I'm sure we can work out a plan, and have something presentable for review within a week."

"And if all else fails, we wait until September so that I don't have to sneak in. If I can take my time getting the wards to obey me, it might work out better, even if the timeframe is longer."

"Also correct. I'll write that up, get it sent off."

"Is there any way to verify what I've said? Maybe an enchanted item that can let me project what I remember like a movie?"

"I'm not sure what a 'movie' is. Do you mean the muggle cinema?" Harry nodded. "Ah. Not as such. However, there exists an item called a pensieve. It allows a magical to view a copy of someone's memory. A wand is required to make the copy, and willingness to provide the copy is required for any kind of quality image. Pensieves are somewhat rare due to their expense. Viciously difficult to enchant, the slightest error in the runic matrix can easily trap a consciousness within the memory for the rest of their lives. Thus, their expense. And yes, Gringotts has several," Slipshard admitted with a savage grin. "Do you want me to have one sent down, along with a wizard to help produce the memory?"

Several minutes later, Harry was looking over a bowl absolutely covered in runes and other, less identifiable symbols. That wizard that carried it in looked bored even as he taught Harry how to extract the memory strand and drop it into the pensieve. The wizard left, and Slipshard looked at Harry. "Shall we?"

"I don't know if I want to do this," Harry admitted. "It was bad enough the first time. I'm not sure I want to relive this."

"I understand. But consider this. We have full control over every function of the pensieve. We can pause, retreat the progress, and walk around the construct in ways that have little to do with the actual combat. We can properly analyze everything that your senses picked up, even on the subconscious level."

Harry huffed out a breath at that. "Fine. But if I call to leave, we leave."

The pair put their fingers into the memory, and Harry suddenly found himself staring at the shed skin. There was Ron and himself, prodding Lockhart along.

"Pause," Slipshard spoke, walking up to the shed skin. Pulling out an odd instrument, he gestured for Harry to be at one end of the skin, while he was at the other. Keying the button, he wrote down in a notebook, muttering, "Thirty-seven feet, seven inches."

"What was that thing?"

"Hm? Oh, this. It's a rangefinder. Muggles use this model on the golf course to help them drive balls downrange."

"And... it works here? _Inside_ of a memory?"

"Certainly. Why wouldn't it?"

"Something I'll be asking later," Harry replied, noting that down on his own list.

34\. Slipshard used a muggle rangefinder inside of a pensieve memory, inside of the bank. How does that work in a high magic environment?

Continuing on, they watched Lockhart Obliviate himself, causing the cave-in, and then young Harry opened the circular door.

"Is it just me, or are wizards just too ostentatious? I mean, that door is just stupidly overdone with all of the animated metal snakes."

"It isn't just you, Mister Potter. Trust me, it isn't just you."

A few moments later, Harry narrated, "Yup there's nearly-dead Ginny, the image of a young Tom Riddle, and short Harry. There he is, writing his name and anagram in fire with my wand. Damn, I was stupid! Pause!"

Slipshard, eager to see what was next, snapped his gaze at Harry, who was looking up. Looking up as well, Slipshard was amazed to see just how massive the Chamber of Secrets truly was.

The roof was almost two hundred feet up, the tightly fitted cut stone set in a semi-circle before the statue of the face of Slytherin. Odd, smooth outcroppings occasionally, seemingly randomly, protruded from the set stones almost like stone fungal formations. All of this was at odds with the more natural cave-like stone above the statue.

"I didn't notice any of this," Harry mused aloud, turning in place.

"Little wonder," Slipshard scoffed. "As you said, you were too busy not dying and getting people out. You were focused on the goals before you, not lost in wonder with your head in the clouds. Hmm. It was said in the legends that this was Salazar Slytherin's personal chambers, but I can't see anything that would indicate that."

"It's probably a secret door that can only be opened by a parselmouth," Harry shrugged.

The motion resumed, the annoying mocking of Riddle echoed through the chamber, Fawkes somehow flew in with the Sorting Hat, and the basilisk was unleashed.

"Pause. Potter, what did Riddle say in parseltongue?"

"You couldn't understand that? Huh. I figured that you would be able to, given that it's a memory of a parselmouth."

"No, as parseltongue is an exclusively magical language, only those with the gift in their ancestry might be able to comprehend it."

"Interesting. And what Riddle said was ' _Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four_.'"

"Tss. What a pretentious ass."

"That's what I'm saying," Harry responded in complete agreement.

Motion resuming once more, Harry watched himself run like hell, Fawkes clawed out it's eyes.

"Pause. Rewind fourteen seconds," Slipshard ordered. Everything rewound like a VHS tape, and Slipshard, looking intently at the basilisk, ordered the motion to resume.

Harry spotted it; he had been a little too focused on what his younger self was doing (namely running like hell). Between him running blindly (with probably a concussion due to being slammed into a wall), and Fawkes' distraction, the basilisk had been weaving almost drunkenly between the pillars as Fawkes distracted it.

"Hmm. Interesting. It isn't directly attacking the phoenix, but rather seems almost confused by the bird. Normally, something flitting in front of a serpent that's on the hunt gets bit and saved for later, or attacked as the serpent moves to follow it's orders. It's not directly attacking, so there must have been something else going on here."

"Possibly. I barely saw it. I'm still wondering how Fawkes knew to come to me, considering nobody but Riddle and me have been in here in a thousand years."

Slipshard took another measurement, using Harry as the reference.

Back in action, there was the basilisk blindly sweeping the Sorting Hat at Harry, the Sword of Gryffindor giving Harry _more_ of a concussion, more dodging, the basilisk's lunge in perfect time with Harry's sword thrust into it's brain, even as the fang went through his right forearm, splintering as the basilisk fell sideways.

"Pause. Did you see that, Potter? No clamping down. No actual bite. Even in it's death, the brain's final order to the body would have been to bite down. You should be missing an arm, at the very least."

"That _is_ weird," Harry admitted. "I just thought I stabbed it in the brain and shut down the body. You know, got a stupidly lucky shot."

"Also, no thrashing, only twitching. Every snake I've ever heard of will writhe and thrash upon death, even beheading. Also, the splintering. Is it possible some of the fragments are still in your arm?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe, but it'll get taken care of in a moment."

The memory resumed. Harry wrenching the fang out of his arm, Fawkes landing next to him, Riddle being a mocking jerk and a poor winner, Fawkes weeping into the poisoned wound, Harry getting up as Riddle was being even worse of an ass, Harry stabbing the diary with the fang, Riddle disappearing as Harry's wand clattered to the floor, Harry retrieving the sword, and then the memory ended as the pair found themselves once more in Slipshard's office.

Harry dropped heavily into the chair as Slipshard gracefully took his. "There it was, The fight with Riddle and the basilisk. Do I need to hit Monte Carlo with that kind of luck?"

"Possibly, Mister Potter," Slipshard laughed. "At any rate, there are several questions that I'll need to ask experts. The basilisk was an even eighty feet long, five feet two inches in diameter at it's thickest. For reference, the longest basilisk on record is fifty feet."

"Criminy. That was insane. I honestly cannot believe that I survived that."

"Actually, I have some concerns about that. I want to bring in a healer to look at that puncture. The splintering may have left fragments. Yes, I know that phoenix tears are a panacea, but if fragments of that fang are still in there, they could cause problems in the long term."

"That's fair. Although I've been checked over by Madame Pomfrey several times since the Chamber. Pretty sure if there was something like that, she would've found it."

"Actually, that's not entirely correct. With magic, intent is a massive part of the casting, especially with something as precise as medical examinations. If she didn't know to look for something, she wouldn't know to do an extremely detailed examination."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scenes described are noted from the Chamber of Secrets novel. The description of the Chamber itself and the basilisk is from photos taken during the movie production. I didn't go into the play-by-play of the entire battle, but instead took note of important distinctions.  
> Also, I am still amazed that this series of setup chapters is dragging on like this. There are just too many questions that Harry would legitimately ask by the end of third year!  
> As always, comments criticisms are always welcome.


	10. Revelations and Confusions

Harry groaned, saying, "Fine. Bring in a healer. Best case, nothing's really wrong, no complications. Worst case... Worst case is that there's so much wrong with me that the injuries are holding competitions to see which one gets to kill me.."

"That's the spirit, young man!" Slipshard enthused with a cheeky grin. "I'll send for a healer, and we'll tend to the rest of the bits while we wait."

"Sounds good. So, we covered my mail, the basilisk, and the progress on the the missing twenty grand. Are we missing anything in particular?"

"I don't believe so. At least, not for anything urgent. New business?"

"Sounds good. What do you have?"

Slipshard moved some parchment around, then said, "First, obviously, you'll have to go back to the Ministry. You'll need to know what properties you now are responsible for from your claim of Conquest."

"Stands to reason. I'll want to see Madam Bones while I'm there. She was very interested in the case of Sirius Black."

"Hm?" Slipshard asked, his eyes snapping up from his paperwork. "What about him?"

"Basically, Peter Pettigrew is alive, and was a magical family's pet rat; animagus. Sirius claimed he never got a trial, just arrested and plopped in Azkaban. When he escaped, it was because he saw Pettigrew in his animagus form in the _Daily Prophet_."

"So he wasn't going after you, like the Ministry believed. Interesting. Was anyone in the Ministry notified?"

Harry scoffed at that. "Fudge was there, we told him, and he said Sirius must have Confunded us. No investigation, no further questions, nothing. Just took Snape's word on the whole mess."

"How very odd," Slipshard commented, still taking notes. "If all of the details you received are accurate, I would have thought that Fudge would have been eager to place the blame firmly on Bagnold's administration. That he took the word of a known 'former' Death Eater over that of the Boy-Who-Lived, well... That is _most_ unusual and bizarre, Mister Potter."

"Wait, Snape's a Death Eater?" Harry nearly shouted.

"Was, yes. According to court testimonies, he turned double agent for Dumbledore in... I want to say late 1980? At any rate, he turned spy and was granted clemency."

"And now he's a nasty git who publicly favors the children of Death Eaters," Harry mused aloud.

"Yes, we've heard the stories of Severus Snape's behavior as an educator. For someone who made their mastery in Potions so early in life, he certainly is a harsh, discouraging instructor. However, it has been noted that, with proper note-taking, his lessons in what not to do has always been vital to the recent graduates of Hogwarts."

"I suppose," Harry admitted grudgingly, "but it doesn't make him any less of a nasty jerk. I mean, he came out as the boggart of one of my classmates! How mean-spirited and harsh does a guy have to be to be a thirteen year old boy's worst fear?"

Slipshard leaned back, fingers drumming on the desk. "An excellent point, and something to consider.

"But we are digressing. So, you'll need to get to the Ministry. Anything else on your end?"

"I have to meet Neville Longbottom about the whole Head Of House stuff. I'm wanting to meet Grim and Roth, learn about my Mum's side of the family. In a few days I'll pick up an order I made... Maybe learn how to apparate? I mean, it sucked when Bill took me to the village, but..."

Harry's voice paused, even as his eyes took on a faraway look that Slipshard recognized as the young man's mind chewing on something. After a moment, Harry softly commented, "Not my first time. That wasn't my first time apparating."

"How do you mean?"

"When I was seven or eight, my cousin and his friends were chasing me, looking to toss me in the school garbage dumpster to get me into trouble. I wanted _so badly_ to get away from them, and suddenly I was on the chimney of the school! Now that I think about it, I was too awed that had gotten away, but the squeezing was definitely there, but a lot less."

"Ah, I see. What Weasley did is called Side-Along Apparation. You popped yourself up there, with your own magic rather than the magic of another. The severe reaction you had was most likely your magic trying to reject the magic of another. Much like the process of blood typing in transfusions, there is a rejection factor to bear in mind."

"Huh. That's really interesting. It makes me wonder if that sort of thing can be expanded on. Like, if the incompatible magic can be shielded against or resisted in a way that's more than the shielding spell."

"A very interesting thing, Mister Potter. Something to look into. Getting back on point, Apparation isn't taught until Hogwart's sixth year. However..."

Slipshard snapped his fingers, smirking. "It may be possible to get early permission and licensing, young man. Hear me out on this." Harry nodded at that. "Say, if you were to write a missive to various departments, citing the 'Threat of Sirius Black', they may allow you to get early licensing and special dispensations for things."

Harry had been about to interrupt at the mention of Sirius being a 'threat', but held his tongue long enough for Slipshard to finish. Giving it proper consideration, he slowly began with, "Just for wondering about it, say I write Fudge an apology letter, claiming that the stress of Black's escape had gotten to me in a bad way, and that, combined with dementor exposure, made me act the way that I did. Claim that I'd come to my senses, discovered that the Ministry was correct, and ask for proper training so that I could escape if Black came back for me. Furthermore," Harry continued, his voice firming, "I could ask that the Kiss On Sight order be retracted, because I wanted to know why Black, my godfather, betrayed his best friend! A request for closure from an orphan, mixed with a request for safety training?"

"Yes, yes! That's very good, Mister Potter. Use what you have to accomplish your goals. I highly recommend that you get on that as soon as you can. You may also wish to comment that you only recently discovered your heritage, and are dedicating your time to reviving the greatness of the House of Potter. By seeming to ally yourself with Fudge, this will make you politically friendly to the current administration. And if asked to support something you don't care for, claim that you 'just aren't old enough to make a properly informed stance on such an _important, vital matter_ ', and let the Ministry bury itself in stupidity once more."

"And if all else fails," Harry mentioned, shrugging, "I simply leave. After all, there are other, friendlier nations out there. And any number of schools would love to take in the Boy-Who-Lived, right? Plus I apparently have a property on the France/Italy border. I could go there and hire tutors."

"Precisely correct, Mister Potter. So, there's that bug in your ear. Anything else for now, or can we get to new business?"

Harry laughed at that. "I cannot believe that all this was because I wanted to know about my account. So much wierd in a few days. And yes, let's get to new business. How might I assist Gringotts today?"

"I was asked if you had ideas about investments. I replied that you were 'thirteen, and should be focused on girls and school, not diversified international investment strategies.' I was reminded that it really isn't too soon to begin investments."

"Investments? I suppose; I hadn't really thought of it. I mean, I just found out three days ago that I'm a millionaire. Holy crapmonkeys, has it been three days?"

"It has indeed."

Harry scrubbed at his face, trying to shift gears onto a new thought track. "Does Gringotts invest in the muggle world?"

"We do. Although it's frowned upon by Wizarding Britain, other nation's governments are less hidebound. Mostly we tend to invest in manufacturing and agriculture; those are invariably good for the economy, and a robust economy is a solid foundation for a society."

"Let me think... How about communications? I know that portable phones are making some pretty heavy tracks; Uncle Vernon complained that soon his entire company will be chained to phones they can carry in their pockets. If that goes widespread, it'd be good to get in on that now, right?"

"Indeed it would," Slipshard commented, already taking notes on a separate bit of parchment.

"Computers too." At Slipshard's expression of confusion, Harry explained, "A computer is an electronic item that can do a lot of maths at once. In primary, we had computers made by a company named Apple. These could run games, store information, do bank records, all sorts of things. We didn't get to the bigger stuff; that stuff was for kids in secondary school. But I had heard that some of the things the machines were using was used to calculate energy usages and efficiencies for the difference in power outputs between petrol and electric cars."

"That's utterly fascinating. I will definitely be looking into this," Slipshard stated in a bit of awe.

"I hate to diverge again, but how did you use that rangefinder in the pensieve? I thought that electronics didn't work in a high magic area?"

Slipshard sighed heavily. "Are they _still_ telling that lie at Hogwarts? No, Mister Potter, it isn't _magic_ that makes electronics fail at Hogwarts, it's the _castle_. Think about it this way. The Ministry of Magic is in the middle of Whitehall, the center of the muggle government. Don't you think that someone would have noticed a blackout zone in the heart of London by now? MACUSA headquarters is in Manhattan, in New York City. Wouldn't _they_ have noticed that?"

Harry leaned back, contemplating this. "Well. Sounds like pureblood crap all over again. Makes me wonder what other massive lies are waiting for me. So, the rangefinder was a perfectly reasonable thing, check."

"Mind you, I couldn't bounce the beam off of anything in the memory; it's all a projection. But I could bounce the beam off of you, which worked out quite well."

"Huh. Makes sense. But yeah, investments. Computers, communications... I can't really think of anything else, but I'm pretty sure those two will go a long ways."

"Got it. I'll make inquiries, get promising companies looked at. Oh, and the healer is here."

The door opened, and a thin, waifishly built woman walked in. "Auditor, you needed a healer?" the woman asked in a soft, melodic voice with an American accent.

"Healer Morgan, this is our client Harry Potter. He was bitten by a basilisk a year ago, got treated with phoenix tears, but after seeing the event in the pensieve, I am concerned about long reaching effects. With Mister Potter's permission, I'd like to request a full scan."

Now that Harry could see her full, the woman was tiny. Four foot seven, clearly Asian, of extremely delicate build; Harry was certain that she couldn't have weighed more than ninety pounds at best. Long, thick raven black hair fell to the small of her back, and her eye color was an unusual amethyst in shade (her expression was too cold to call it any other shade of purple). Jaw-droppingly gorgeous in her own way, her build was quite thin, and yet there was an underlying sensuality about her. Also, as was mentioned, a certain cold aloofness. Attired in a simple black dress rather than wizarding robes, it only accentuated her flawlessly alabaster skin.

"Mister Potter, do you give your consent to a deep tissue scan?" she asked incuriously.

"I do, Healer Morgan."

She nodded, pulling out a roll of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell. Pulling a rod out of her bag, she began chanting in an odd language, harsh, sharp, and disturbingly guttural on a primal level, Harry saw that even Slipshard twitched slightly at it.

Swiftly, the quill filled out inch after inch of parchment, even as Morgan's expression became more and more unpleasant. Finally, after a full seven minutes of chanting she stopped, her expression almost murderous.

"Mister Potter," she began, clearly having difficulties keeping her temper under control, "you have my sincerest condolences on your quality of life up to this point."

"Ah, okay? Thanks, I suppose. What do you mean?"

She sighed, putting her rod away. "I have finished a reading of your entire medical history. Incidents of severe vitamin and mineral deficiency, multiple periods of starvation, forty-six old injuries that healed without proper treatment. And that is before the bones in your right arm were replaced.

"Furthermore, it seems that very few of the injuries you acquired just over a year ago were tended to at all. The bite was treated with phoenix tears, but there are four shards of fang buried in the bones of your right forearm. Unfortunately, due to the instantaneous healing of the tears, the shards are fused to the bones in a manner that cannot be remedied without repeating the replacement of the bones in your arm. Fortunately, I have determined that the shards are now a permanent, non-threatening portion of your anatomy. However, I do not recommend donating blood to anyone whose life you wish preserve. Your blood is now extraordinarily toxic, and the infusion of phoenix tears naturalized the toxin to your biology.

"On top of all of that, your scar seems to be containing something that my magics cannot identify. I will need to take different scans to determine what that is, and what can be done about it."

"I... I don't know what to say, ma'am."

"I do," she replied sharply. "Tell me where I can find the savages who would starve a child nearly to death. Tell me the name of the fool who allowed a child to face a basilisk. Tell me the name of the bastard that did enough damage to a twelve year old that would necessitate the regrowing of every bone in the arm from shoulder to fingertip," she snarled out.

Harry leaned as far away as he could from the nearly raging witch, eyes wide as fear for others wracked through his system.

"Healer Morgan! Control yourself!" Slipshard barked out.

Slowly, with deep breaths and much fist clenching, the healer brought herself under control. Finally calmer, she said, "Mister Potter, Auditor Slipshard, I ask for your forgiveness at my presumption and loss of control. My only excuse is that I cannot countenance the abuse of children under any circumstance."

"I'm okay with it, ma'am. As a healer, your main concern is the care of others."

"I agree with Mister Potter. That you had such a reaction speaks well of your dedication," Slipshard commented.

"Very well. Mister Potter, if you want these... _creatures_ dealt with, let me know. Good day, gentlemen."

With that, she waved her hand, healing Harry's nose and face as she glided out, closing the door behind her. Harry looked at Slipshard, asking, "Is she always that intense?"

"Not usually," Slipshard replied. "Healer Djhara Morgan is one of the more accomplished healers that we have access to, but her primary field of study is demonology. She's actually on contract to assist Gringotts with medical matters and exorcisms."

"Top rated?"

"Heh. She would be, were she pureblooded and British. Instead, she's American and of no known family. She is extraordinarily qualified in most matters magical, and among demonologists she has a well-earned title: The Cauldron of Hate."

Harry's eyes widened at that. "And was her reaction normal?"

"Pretty much. She has a reputation, not confirmed mind you, of violently torturing child abusers. Eye for an eye stuff. She is excellent with small children, and phenomenal with medical scans."

"Damn," Harry muttered, finally picking up the four feet of parchment. Looking it over, he whistled in admiration. "Injuries, estimated dates of incidence, everything is here. Including recommended treatments for each and every item."

"Mister Potter, I recommend only showing that to people that you trust implicitly," Slipshard warned. "If word gets out about that, you'll receive pity rather than your current adulation. I recommend getting yourself a private healer to tend to these things. And then get yourself a solicitor. Given the breadth of your questions, as well as the potential political fallout of the answers, I get the feeling you'll need _at least_ one solicitor. Personally, I recommend placing an entire legal practice on retainer."

"Actually, the solicitor thing was on my list. And yeah, a healer, check. Criminy, my life is messed up. Would Miss Morgan _really_ go after my relatives, Lockhart, and Dumbledore?"

"Without hesitation," Slipshard replied instantly. "We know almost nothing of her background save her qualifications, but she is vicious in her wrath. Very little will slow her determination, and she has yet to be stopped once she's on her designated path. She was recommended to us by a duke who straddles both the magical and muggle world. Apparently he knew her when she was in school because her legal guardian moved in the duke's social circles."

"Something to keep in mind, I suppose," Harry noted, his voice falsely lightened. "Okay, back to it. Healer, basilisk, Neville, Roth and Grim, Ministry, investments, letter to Fudge. Are we missing anything?"

"Yes. I need your written authorization to make the investments in your name. While you are the last of the Potter line, it does not allow you to authorize legal matters. Being the head of the house of Slytherin, by way of Gaunt, does."

"That... was not something I expected. I'll have to ask Neville about that stuff. As the future head of the House of Longbottom, he was raised in all of that."

"Hmm. Yes, Augusta Longbottom, the regent of the house, has always been aggressive in the house's investments, if rather conservative in focus. Basically," Slipshard explained at Harry's curious look, "she invests in strictly wizarding endeavors, and even then not in companies that haven't already proven themselves."

"So, pretty much the opposite of what I'm suggesting. She invests in established companies, I'm wanting to hit muggle companies as they're taking off."

"Essentially. Let me get out the paperwork, we'll look at authorizing investments as soon as we can pry open your family vault."

"Hm. Let me see," Harry commented as he pulled out his notebook. "I have... 327,412 Galleons in coinage plus jewelry. That is... just over eight million pounds. Disregarding the family vault for now, how about we designate a full two million pounds towards investments? I know it's a quarter of my trust vault," Harry said reassuredly, "but since you'll be investing in starting tech companies, the costs should be a lot lower, getting more percentage for the pound." At Slipshard's nod, Harry continued, "Furthermore, there'll be almost a quarter million Galleons remaining. And none of that is counting the jewelry and whatever odds and ends are in the trust vault."

"I see your thrust, Mister Potter. It's a good, conservative plan that allows for liquidity even in failure. Yes, that can be workable. I've got the agreement here, so let's read it and sign, yes?"

The procedure went almost exactly like the agreement for the vault identification idea contract, except that the goblins were paid 1% of the profits from the managed funds.

"I don't think that there's anything else today, Mister Potter. I'll talk to some people about the basilisk, the investments and the like. Take your diagnosis and keep it safe."

"Thank you, Slipshard. And I really appreciate everything you're doing for me."

"Helping you helps Gringotts," Slipshard smirked out. "Business partners are best held with trust and honesty."

"Agreed. Have a great day."

Ten minutes later, Harry had entered the Leaky Cauldron, speeding along his merry way to the Ministry. The time was only 8:20, so he had plenty of time in his day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, wrapped up the main Gringotts stuff. Hopefully I can get away with just small bits with them in future chapters.  
> Djhara Morgan is one of my personal characters. My wife and I are roleplayers, and it's easier to use someone established in my head than to create a character from whole cloth. And yes, this character would do things to the Dursleys that would violate the Geneva Convention.  
> I hope you enjoy the chapter. Comments and criticisms are always welcome.


	11. Lies and Legalities

Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Defeater of Voldemort, was ejected out of the floo in the Ministry atrium like a cannonball, once more sliding to a stop at the base of the Statue of Magical Brethren. Gripping the edge of the fountain, he slowly rose to his feet, muttering, "Every damn time..."

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was walking out of the Tax Offices. The only items belonging to the Gaunt line was a small (for purebloods) property on the outskirts of a community known as Little Hangleton, and a larger manor house about a mile away. Oddly, the manor wasn't listed as a wizarding property, and yet was enfolded within the Gaunt property list.

Unsurprisingly, there was nothing listed for the Slytherin properties.

Making his way towards the elevators, he began looking around. There were a lot of offices on this level. Taxation, Vital Records, Inheritance Records, Apparation Offices, Fraud and Licensing Offices...

'Wait a minute,' Harry thought, backtracking a little. There, standing before him, was a door with Inheritance Records written on the frosted glass in gold letters. Stepping inside, he saw an office similar to the Tax offices, with a secretary out front.

"May I help you?" asked a middle-aged man. He was paunchy, thick-cheeked with his hair cut into a tonsure.

"My name is Harry Potter. I was wondering if this was were wills were placed."

The man straightened slightly, replying, "It is. All files listed as 'Last Will and Testament' in Magical Britain are on record here. The originals are usually probated by individual legal firms, but copies are required to be placed in this office for Ministry records."

"I see. Could I schedule an appointment to see if James and Lily Potter left a will?"

The man blinked, and said, "One moment." He waved his wand, and several sheet of parchment materialized on the desk. Checking them over, he said, "Thankfully, this is a fairly slow office. Guernsey will be checking this. Please, have a seat in the conference room there," he gestured to a door, "and she'll be along in a few minutes."

Harry entered the room and sat in a comfortable chair at a long table. Looking around, he saw a number of landscape portraits. All were done in bright colors; Harry thought that they were that way in case a will had to be enforced in the room. In under two minutes, a thin, elderly witch walked into the room, sitting herself opposite Harry.

"Good morning, Mister Potter," she began pleasantly. "My name is Genevieve Guernsey, and I'll be going over the requested paperwork."

"Thank you, ma'am. I would have come earlier, but I didn't know that these offices existed before this week."

"How unusual," she mused, flipping open a thick folder. "But not my concern.

"Let's dig in, shall we? Let's see... legalese, 'Party of the Third Part', more legal faux-latin, ah! Here we are, the real bequeathments.

"Hmm. According to this, the executors were to be the law firm Weasel, Stoat, and Strawberry, but I know that they were wiped out late in the war with You-Know-Who. Therefore the probate falls to my department. Is that alright with you, or would you rather have another law firm perform that?"

"I'm not sure what all that entails Ma'am," Harry began, "and this sounds like I'd be in over my head fast. Would it be alright to read it here, and then I make the decision to enact it afterwards?"

"Hmm. Normally a will is probated immediately; relatives generally want to clear this sort of thing up as soon as possible. But with a will this old, I don't see much of a hurry if you don't.

"So, almost everything is left to You, Mister Potter. I'll make a copy of everything listed for you. Further bequeathments: ten thousand Galleons each to Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew, fifty thousand Galleons to Hogwarts for expanding their library and potions departments, a house in Cokeworth to Severus Snape, and a house in Surrey to Petunia Dursley.

"Last are the individuals who were to care for you in the event of their passing, in order:  
Frank and Alice Longbottom  
Sirius Black  
Ted and Andromeda Tonks  
Conrad Roth  
Under no circumstance is Harry James Potter to be placed with Petunia Dursley or Albus Dumbledore

Final Instructions: Harry is to take the evidence of his birth from Vital Records and proceed to the Royal Society for the remainder of his due inheritance.

Signed and dated September First, 1981"

She looked up, saying, "And that is the practical sum of it all, Mister Potter. The rest is all legal jargon and such. Do you have any questions?"

"Not really, apart from wanting a copy, Ma'am."

"I have it here," she replied, handing Harry a thick, flat envelope.

"If there's nothing more?" She shook her head at that. "Then thank you very much for your time, ma'am," Harry summed up, bowing.

Harry left the office, hitting up Vital Records for a copy of his birth certificate. Both of them; it turned out that he had been born in the Blackpool Victoria Hospital, and then re-registered at St. Mungos.

Pausing for a moment, his mind once more reeled at the information plopped into his lap. More questions swam around his brain. His parents never knew about Pettigrew, he should never have gone to the Dursleys.

Slowly, his mind began wrapping around a vague concept. A bequeathment, a law firm to make it happen...

Suddenly he was slammed into a wall as someone swung their considerable girth around the corner. Harry bounced off the wall, hit the floor, and lay there for a minute trying to force air back into his lungs.

From above he heard, "I am terribly sorry, young man! Are you alright? Here, let me help... Oh. Hello, Potter."

Finally able to barely breathe, Harry looked up to see the face of none other than Cornelius Fudge. Holding up his finger, Harry coughed, forcing his lungs to work. "Good morning, Minister," he gasped out, holding his ribs. "Just the person I wanted to see, sir."

"Oh?" Fudge asked reservedly.

Harry slumped against the wall with a groan, checking the envelope to make sure it hadn't broken open. "I was planning on writing you a letter, sir, but this is easier."

"How so?" Fudge asked, curiosity lacing his voice.

"Couple weeks ago, that mess in the hospital wing. Between Black kidnapping Ron, Professor Snape, and then all of the dementors, I got really confused. Might have been seeing stuff that wasn't there. Having had time to sort it all out, I realized that I had been influenced by Dementor exposure. The Dementors hit me harder than most people, sir," Harry explained. "When they're near, I hear my mother begging for my life, and then a flash of green," he continued, noting Fudge's expression of horror and sympathy. "So I'm sure you can see how messed up in the head I was, sir."

Fudge smiled at that in an ingratiating manner. "Why, of course I do, Harry!" he enthused. "After all, youth is when we're allowed to learn from our mistakes before they have permanent consequences. And with your experience with the Dementors, I'm not surprised that you were rather discombobulated by the entire matter. I thank you for the apology, young man."

"Thank you, sir. Although it occurs to me, sir, that I don't know what to do if Black comes at me again. I've only passed my third year, and before Professor Lupin, the Defense education was, well, almost nonexistent. Quirrel stuttered too badly to be able to teach stuff, and Lockhart was, well, a fraud who didn't teach us a single spell. I understand that he was the only applicant for the position, so I really can't fault the Headmaster on that. 

"Would you have any suggestion on how I can get away from Black, sir?," Harry asked in a pleading tone of voice, even as a small wave of revulsion rippled across his stomach.

"Hmm. Well, there's apparation, but that isn't taught until the sixth year of Hogwarts, and licenses aren't usually granted until a wizard is seventeen... Portkeys are right out, as only registered, licensed personnel are allowed to make one, hmm." Fudge's eyes snapped up to meet Harry's. "I'll tell you what, my boy. Give me a few days to think about it, and I'm sure I can come up with something legal."

"Thank you, sir. I was getting concerned that I would have to get weirdly creative in a not necessarily legal way."

"Out of curiosity, what are you doing here, Harry?" Fudge asked jovially.

Harry, relieved that the experienced politician bought his line of bull, said, "I came here for the tax offices, sir. I may be a minor, but that doesn't mean I should ignore my family obligations." Fudge nodded at that. "After I wrapped up there, I spotted the Inheritance Records office, so I stepped in and got a copy of my parents' will, and then snagged copies of my birth records."

Fudge nodded at that approvingly. "Good, good. Excellent work for someone of your age. Most youngsters would end up putting that off until they hit adulthood, and then they would be confused and offended when they get their first tax bill."

"Yes, sir. My uncle always insisted on paying the government their just due in taxes. 'After all, our taxes pay for roads, schools, and the Royal Marines', as he would say."

"Excellent to hear that some of today's youth have a bit of sense. My apologies, Harry, but I have to get going. governance never stops, after all."

"Of course, sir. I imagine that a man in your position would get run ragged pretty fast. Thanks again for hearing me out, sir."

"Think nothing of it," Fudge chuckled out, shaking Harry's hand.

"Wait, sir?" Fudge turned to look at Harry. "I know it's a really tall item, but I was wondering if I could ask that the Kiss On Sight order be withdrawn?"

Fudge inhaled sharply, his eyes going flinty. "And why would we want that?"

Harry looked down at the floor, his body language shy, even as his mind snarled at his show of inferiority. "Well, it's just that everyone says that Black and my father were almost brothers. I would like him to be captured," Harry continued, his body language growing more aggressive, " and be made to publicly face me as I demand an explanation for his betrayal. Nobody seems to know why he did it," Harry snarled out, "but I, the ultimate victim of his betrayal, deserve an answer!"

Fudge stepped back, internally commenting that once this boy was older, he could have one _hell_ of a career in politics with that combination of body language and verbal passion.

"I'll see what I can do," Fudge replied reservedly. "I agree that you deserve an answer, so I'll speak with some advisors about it. Good day, Harry."

Waiting for Fudge to be out of eyesight, Harry finally let go of his self-control, slumping against the wall and groaning silently. His head throbbing from his revulsion, he got himself back under control and wondered why he was getting so many stress headaches.

Finally, he got to the elevator and reached Level Seven. Looking around, he saw aurors of all ages doing police stuff, but in robes. Paperwork, processing criminals, over there someone was being pushed into a room marked Interrogations.

Slowly making his way around the desks, criminals, and one auror hauling what appeared to be a manacled werewolf to a desk ("It's just a polyjuice accident! I swear!"), he reached a desk in front of a door marked Director.

Sitting at the desk looking irritated as she did paperwork was a young witch with bright red hair. Looking up, she near snarled out, "Can I help you?" Harry took a step back at that, even as her hair turned the shade of bubble gum as she suddenly smiled. "Harry! I didn't think I'd see _you_ in our little slice of government!"

"Ah, yeah," Harry replied uncertainly. "Sorry, have we met?"

"No, not really. I was in my last year of Hogwarts when you were a firstie. Junior Auror Tonks, at your service," she commented happily.

"Got it. Anyways, I was hoping to meet with Madam Bones at her earliest reasonable convenience."

"You'll have to wait a few minutes. She's in a meeting with the senior aurors about something serious."

"I can wait," Harry commented, sitting on a nearby couch. "So, secretary. Is that an official position within the Auror Corps?" Harry smirked out, now remembering a few rumors about the trouble making Hufflepuff.

Tonks rolled her eyes at that. "No, the boss's regular secretary called out sick, and since I got in trouble for 'Excessive Force on a Pureblood', I got stuck here while the paperwork goes through."

"'Excessive Force on a Pureblood'? That sounds political."

"Oh, it is! Although the _actual_ translation of that is 'Being an Uppity Half-Blood Who Won't be Bribed'," Tonks commented, even as several aurors around her snickered.

"Wait, why tell me?" Harry asked, startled that anyone would tell such a thing to a near stranger.

"C'mon, Harry," Tonks smiled out, "the heroic tales of you saving the Stone from Quirrel tore around Hogwarts _fast_. I mean, I don't think you made it to the hospital wing before it got out. Also, one of your best friends is muggleborn, the other is a pureblood Progressive. Out of anyone, you have a reputation of standing up for stuff.

"Besides," she continued, "it's not like anyone here doesn't know how it translates," she continued airily, waving her hand at the various desks. Many nods came her way as the door opened, and a handful of scowling aurors marched out. 

Madam Bones stuck her head out the door. "Anyone else?!" she demanded of the bullpen. When there was no response, she asked, "Auror Tonks, do you have anything for me?"

Tonks snapped to attention in her chair. "Yes, ma'am!" she replied in a terrified voice. "Harry Potter is here to meet with you at your earliest reasonable convenience, ma'am!"

Bones' eyes snapped over to the couch to see Harry Potter nearly sitting at attention. Theatrically, she sighed out, "Might as well get this over with. In here, Potter."

Harry leaped up, moving fast towards the office. From his peripheral vision, he caught several aurors giving him sympathetic looks before he crossed the threshold, the door closing behind him.

"Take a seat," Bones barked, sitting behind her desk. As Harry took his chair, he managed to peer around the room a little. Some awards were on the wall, as well as a few wizarding photographs. On the opposite wall were pinned dozens of newpaper clippings. Behind her was a map of Britain and Ireland, various points pulsating in different colors.

"Sorry about that, Potter," Bones commented, slumping slightly in her chair. "Sometimes I have to remind my staff of their jobs. Conflicts between political factions can make things complicated in any level of the government.

"At any rate, my issues aren't yours. How may I help you?"

Harry blinked, then said, "Well, I remembered what you told me and did the Right of Conquest. I did it in Gringotts, with their permission. So now I own the basilisk, as well as was made the head of the Line of Slytherin and the line of Gaunt."

Amelia's eyes widened fractionally. "You've been busy," she muttered. "Anything else?"

"Umm, my family vaults won't let me in; the goblins are looking into that. I got the list of Potter properties, and I'm staying at the Potter Village Estate in Staffordshire. It's really run down, but I have a wizarding tent to live in. I plan to get ahold of a house elf I know to see if he can help me with some stuff. Oh, I also found out that my parents' cottage in Godric's Hollow is under stasis? I was wondering who to talk to about lifting that temporarily so I can get the family stuff out."

"That... is an interesting question," Amelia mused, startled by the unexpected bit of information. "I was under the impression that the cottage was a ruin, preserved as part of the memorial. But if... When was it put under stasis?"

"That paperwork doesn't say, but since the memorial was established on the fourth of November, I'm betting some time before that."

"A good wager. I'm not sure who you'd speak to. Possibly someone in... no, not them. Maybe... Hm. I'm not sure. The establishment of memorials has always come down to the Wizengamot, rather than any department. You may have to get them to cough up the permission during a scheduled session. I recommend getting yourself a good attorney."

"I plan to ask around about that after I leave the Ministry. This is the third time today that the need for legal counsel has come up."

"Anyone of means is advised to have an attorney, if not an entire practice, on retainer," Amelia noted aloud, pulling out several sheets of parchment. "Now, for the case of Sirius Black...

"He got a trial," Amelia stated, looking Harry in the eyes. " _Trial In Absentia_ , as occasionally happened in those days. Bear in mind that during the aftermath of the war, the Wizengamot was placed in charge of the reconstruction, while Council of Magical Law ran the criminal courts. According to Black's records, he was in already Azkaban when the Council met. And before you ask," Amelia held up her hand, staving off Harry's outrage, "remember that the government was a right mess. Some theorists believe we were less than a fortnight from being the Ministry of Voldemort, a lot of officials were dead, and it took almost four years to get ourselves back up to a point of functionality. While I agree that it's not an excuse for shoddy justice, it is what happened.

"Now, given that he did have a trial, no matter how poor, new evidence needs to be produced in order to have a retrial. Given what you told me, having Pettigrew on hand would be the most ironclad option. Lesser options would have to be debated by the lawyers, and could go either way."

"I see," Harry mumbled, his eyes staring at her desk unseeing. Then his head slowly rose. "What about a memory?"

"Hm? You mean for a pensieve?" Harry nodded at that. "It would be a good cornerstone for a case, but not the entirety of the case itself. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that there's a great deal of money backing Black's death. Someone stands to inherit upon his demise, and I'm fairly certain that that someone has Fudge's ear by the purse."

"Huh. Not good. Well, at least I put a bug in Fudge's ear about lifting the Kiss On Sight order. I claimed," he explained at her rising eyebrows, "that I had a right to publicly demand of him the reasons he betrayed my family. Fudge seemed to consider it, as well as my questions on how to defend myself or get away if Sirius came back for me."

"And when was this?"

"About ten minutes ago, just outside of the Vital Records office. He literally bumped into me; I probably have some bruised ribs from bouncing off the wall, but if it makes Fudge consider something in my favor, I'll take it."

"His new position is interesting, considering two weeks ago he was cursing your name as an 'interfering little gobshite'."

Harry chuckled at that, smirking. "I just claimed that, with Ron getting kidnapped, followed by my own extremely bad time around Dementors, that I was most likely hallucinating. A 'sincere' apology, and suddenly all was well."

Amelia leaned back in appreciation. "Very well done. I daresay you'll be hearing from the minister soon."

"So at this point, what do you need from me, Madam Bones?"

"Pensieve memories would be ideal, Mister Potter. At this point, everything you think may be important, I want a copy of the memory of it."

"I can do that. Would it be possible to make multiple copies, just in case I need to show someone else this stuff?"

"Easily. Has this come up before?"

"This morning, actually. My, I guess account manager at Gringotts asked to see my memory of the basilisk. We went through it together and got quite a few questions out of the whole mess."

"Fascinating. Hm. Since you are the Last Scion of three separate family lines, and I thankfully have the paperwork here for that, you can easily sign off on the submission of these as evidence. You might not be an adult, but no pureblood coalition is going to claim that you can't do this; it would undermine their own authority, and provide precedent to deny themselves the very thing."

Thirty minutes later, Harry was slumped in his chair, his eyes unfocused, even as a large number of bottles gleaming from within with memories sat on the desk.

"Are you alright?" Amelia asked concernedly.

"Think so," Harry groaned out. "It's like I'm dizzy, confused, nauseous and starving, all at the same time."

"Ah, I see. This isn't surprising. I've never heard of so many memories being submitted at once, and it's going to have after-effects. Let me stash these in my safe, box up your share, and we'll see if it passes, alright?"

A few minutes later (and a conjured box for the bottles), and Harry asked, "So what happens now that you've got the memories?"

"Now I go through them, bring in a few forensic memory specialists, and start building cases. I won't lie, Harry," she warned, "this will take time. At least a month to build a case, a few weeks to question various parties... This won't be a quick process.

"In the meantime, this is going to bring a lot of attention to your involvement, Harry. I recommend you finding a heavily warded place and holing up there. The press will want to be all over you, to say nothing of Fudge and Dumbledore."

"Someplace to hole up. Like, say, a villa on the French-Italian border?"

Amelia smirked at that. "That would be ideal, actually. And if you can find some tutors, you can keep your head down even after Hogwarts opens back up. After all," she continued, eyes gleaming, "many students learn magic strictly at home from tutors and parents, never having been within a hundred miles of the castle. So long as the of-age student in question is receiving a magical education, it's legal for them to not be at Hogwarts."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working out the introductory arc. I'm slowly, VERY slowly closing in on the point where I can make time skips.  
> Sheesh. This first story arc is becoming a story in it's own right. At least the muse is still flowing for now.  
> Comments and criticisms always welcome!


	12. Discussions and Decisions

Harry walked out of the Ministry, a box full of memories shrunk down in his pocket even as he looked around. At little before eleven in the morning, he noted that he'd made good time.

Turning, he got into a payphone booth. Fishing the slip of paper out of his pocket, he dialed the number.

"Roth here," the older voice came crisply.

"Mister Roth, this is Harry Potter."

"Ah. Good to hear from you. How're you holding up?"

"Better than I was, sir. I was wondering if that offer for stories was still available."

"Absolutely! Where are you now?"

"Whitehall, sir. Two blocks East of Scotland Yard."

"Got it. Have you eaten yet?"

"No, sir."

"Great! Grim and I will be there in about fifteen minutes."

Twenty minutes later, the older Land Rover pulled up. "Get in, Potter," Grim called out, gesturing to the back. Harry climbed in, and Roth pulled back onto the street.

Weaving through traffic, Roth commented, "So, you found a place, Harry?"

"Yes, sir. One of the Potter properties. I'm currently living out of a wizarding tent, and am looking into my options of whether to repair everything or clear it all off and start over."

"Good, good," Roth stated approvingly. "So, wanting to hear about Richard Evans, eh? I have a fair few tails. Grim has more, but he knew him longer."

"Aye, lad," Grim cut in gleefully. "Met 'em both, the Two Dicks, while I was in the merchant navy, mostly hauling gear for their being too nosy in the ass ends of the world. Met Roth there, too."

"Huh. Interesting," Harry noted aloud. "Want to hear something else interesting?" Both men nodded. "In my parents' will, you, Mr. Roth, were supposed to raise me. That was if nobody else was available. You were at the bottom of the list, but still there."

"Hm. I wonder why I didn't get you, then," Roth replied as he turned onto a side street.

"The lady at the will office said that the will never got... probated? I think that's the term. Since the solicitors my parents used got wiped out during the war, nobody enforced it."

"Odd, that," Roth commented mildly, frowning slightly at the sudden traffic. "Who has been raising you, then?"

"Aunt Petunia."

"Petunia?!" Grimk exclaimed, turning in his seat to face Harry. "That can't have been good."

"No, sir. It wasn't great," Harry grudgingly admitted. "Especially since now I know that the will expressly forbade me going to her."

"What? That's just wrong. Roth, do you know anything?" Grim demanded.

"Not a bit," he replied mildly, still mostly focused on the local traffic as he turned again. "Then again, I didn't know that any Evans actually still lived, so..."

"That's fair, sir. I figured that you didn't know; I just wanted to mention it."

"Heh. You could've done with a son," Grim commented humorously. "All that raising of Lara meant there was a bunch of things you really couldn't teach her."

"There is that," Roth idly agreed. "And here we are. One of the best chip shops in all of London."

Once at their seats and orders placed, Roth looked Harry in the eye. "So, what would you like to know, Harry?"

"Anything," Harry replied without hesitation. "Where they lived, what they were like, everything. I know nothing except what little you told me, and what Bill Weasely let slip. So anything would be appreciated."

"I met Dickie Evans," Grim began, "in 1958. My ship had been hired to haul an archaeological expedition to a chain of islands off of India, uhh, the Lakshadweep chain, if memory serves. Apparently they were there as part of some government grants to find out if the earliest known settlements really were that old.

"Anyways, that's the boring bits. I was the First Mate on board, and had to deal with the team. A pair in tweed, of all damn things, were telling people what to do, how to do it, and so on. So I walk up, telling them that they needed to get their people settled. One turns to me and asks, 'What do you think we're doing?' The other looks me up and down, saying, 'Easy there, Richard. He's just doing his job.'

"Anyways, we finally get going, and within a week it was as if the pair had been sailors for years. Honestly, the tweed was gone, and they were dressed in calico dungarees, rubbing elbows with the crew like they'd always been there. There for meals with the crew, even when their own people ate in the holds, or on deck. Hell, they were even in the regular card games. Grand losers, they were, laughing and joking the whole time. Never a word against them.

"So we finally get there, and suddenly they're back in tweed, barking orders and getting stuff organized. Oh, thank you lass," Grim paused, as the three plates of battered cod and chips were laid down at the table. "Anyways, they get everything off the ship, and now an entire ship's crew is standing down to wait on them to be finished. Oh, we did maintenance and such, perfectly normal stuff..."

Twenty minutes passed, with Grim detailing the boringness of ship life, and how the 'Two Dicks' spiced things up by allowing sailors to assist in the expedition, how they managed to intervene with locals whenever a sailor, or a local, got a little too confrontational.

"So there I was, three weeks into this mess, when I cycled around for shore assist. I get off the tub and head over to the site, and there's Croft, his ass hanging out of a hole in the side of a hill, while Evans is trying to pull him out, shouting, 'Suck it in, Pooh Bear! Too much honey, not enough work!' And then the muffled response of, 'Screw off, Dick! It's not my fault that Amelia's cook is so amazing!'"

Harry was laughing his ass off, while Roth smirked as he finished off his fish. "So I grab a shovel and walk up, hoping to help dig the man out. Evans looks at me, smirks, and loudly asks, 'Here to help dig a tubby bugger's grave?' Croft shouted, 'Dammit Dick, piss off!', to which Evans loudly stated, 'We should just leave him in there. Man could stand to lose a couple of stone.'"

Harry was gasping in laughter at this, internally gleeful that Grim did indeed have the embarrassing stories to prove his claim of knowledge.

"Anyways, we get Croft dug out, and he's glaring at the rail-thin Evans the whole while. Turned out that the hole Croft got stuck in was a burial mound dating a few centuries before the earliest known settlement. They got their awards, and we got paid."

"That was amazing, Grim," Harry gasped out, wiping away his tears of laughter with a napkin. "I didn't know I needed to hear that until now, thank you."

"No problem, lad," Grim chuckled out. "You want more, I'll be happy to tell 'em. What about you, Roth? I _know_ you have more stories than I do. Dickie Croft dealt with you more'n he did me."

"This is true," Roth commented, sipping the last of his Pepsi. "But for now, I'd like to ask a couple of questions." Harry nodded in agreement, and Roth asked, "I'm curious what your reaction was, seeing that I was on your list of guardians."

"Like I got stolen from," Harry instantly replied. "Of all the people I could've been settled with, I had to get set with one of the two that was expressly forbidden. And..." Harry paused, collecting his thoughts. "Wait. Hagrid said he brought me from my parents' house on _Dumbledore's_ orders. He's the _other_ one that was on the forbidden list!"

"Huh," Roth inserted. "Granted, he might not have known about the will. And from what I heard, everyone and their dog was celebrating the end of fear. He may have wanted to place you where nobody could find you from certain factions."

"Maybe. I have to see about getting a solicitor, getting stuff done."

"Indeed you do, lad," Grim replied. "Any quick questions for us? We've been here near an hour, and the owner's giving us The Eye."

"Maybe we should go, find somewhere else for this," Roth said, standing as he dropped some cash on the table.

Ten minutes later, the Range Rover was now in front of a small park. Small children laughed and screamed in delight as Harry, Grim, and Roth took seats at a picnic table.

"I do have a couple of questions, Mr. Roth," Harry began.

"Just call me Roth, lad. I may be older, but that doesn't mean I want to be reminded," Roth suggested with a smile.

"Alright. Well, my first question is about your expedition you were wanting to get funding for. What's that all about?"

Roth and Grim looked at each other, nodded, and Roth began, "Okay, lad. As I said a few days ago, James Whitman got into some troubles with his show and the network, and wants a big, showy expedition to lift his reputation. He decided to go and discover the lost kingdom of Yamatai, which has been missing since about 300 A.D. Live archaeology, it was supposed to be his third season, but with the funding pulled, well," Roth shrugged at that.

"Anyways, we'd already been hired, sort of, when the camera crew is called off and Whitman is told by the network to take a hike. Suddenly Whitman _swears_ he'll get the money to fund the whole thing himself even thopugh his now almost ex-wife is selling off his antiques, that we're going anyway.

"I tell him that if he gets the cash, we'll do the run. Thankfully I demanded my own crew, so I have Grim, Reyes, who's a former cop from America and now my lead mechanic, Jonah, who is a cross between cook and enforcer, and Alex, who arrived last night and agreed to be our electronics and computer man. Last is Lara, who has her masters in both archaeology and anthropology, and is working with Whitman towards credit in her PhD. The rest are subordinate crew, essential, but not leads.

"Now, Whitman has managed to get about half the cash we need, and we can easily reuse old equipment, but the rest of the money just isn't there for the contract and the actual work. Alex says he has a line on some income, but I don't know about the rest. Why do you ask, Harry?"

"Harry rested his head against his hand, his elbow on the table. "A couple of reasons. First is that Slipshard said that the expedition premise was solid, but the percentages for Gringotts wouldn't be acceptable."

"Aye, lad," Grim broke in. "Whitman doesn't want to share any of the fame or money on this."

"Agreed," Roth stated. "And I've seen Bill Weasely's CV; the man's solid at what he does, and knows how to keep magic out of sight. He would've been a great help on something like this."

"Got it. Second is that, if I want to hear more about my mum's side of the family, I'll need to keep in contact with you two. Third, well, this morning before I called you, I met with the head of law enforcement. She advised me to keep my head down while she does investigations based on... evidence that I gave her," Harry wrapped, careful to keep an eye on who might be within earshot.

"So what exactly are you asking, Harry?"

"I think... Roth, do you see any dangers in an expedition?"

"Hm. Not really. I mean, it's not as if we're looking at dealing with angry Masai, or a local revolution, or even sun-worshiping cannibal cultists. Again. In all honesty, we're primarily looking for an island in the South Pacific that has yet to be discovered. Whitman thinks he knows roughly where it might be, and Lara is backing him up with her own research so once we get within the region. we're fairly confident that we'll be able to find something that nobody has ever reported. As I said, our only real issue is funding."

"And about how much funding would be needed?"

Grim and Roth looked at each other, then back at Harry. "Lad, I don't mean to pry," Grim commented slowly, "but you barely know us. You just met us a few days ago. It feels like you're asking to come along if you pay your way, but I'm not seeing why you'd want that."

Harry sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Look, I know it looks like I'm just jumping into something head first. It looks like I'm being an impulsive dumbass. But my Mum wanted you to be in my life, Roth, and apparently she talked my Dad into it. The only way to get that at this point is to join up with your thing.

"I have a ton of crap I'm putting into action, and almost none of it will need my direct involvement. Once I get stuff in order, I'll need to disappear from the public eye for a while, and what better way to do that than to be on the other side of the planet, right?"

"That's a fair reasoning," Grim started, "but I'm still a bit concerned about how fast this is happening."

Harry looked up, and both men could see the frazzled expression. "I get it. No, really, I do. But over the past few days I've been asking a lot of questions of a society that doesn't like getting asked questions. I've been lucky in that I've had quite a few very understanding people helping me out, but that doesn't mean that I'm entirely blind as to what's going on, you know?

"Either way you choose," Harry continued, "I have a list of stuff to do today. I wrapped up stuff at... at the bank, I wrapped up stuff at the Ministry, and I met with you two. I still have to get myself a solicitor, talk to a... friend about hiring him, talk to a dorm mate from school, and take my birth records to the Royal Society for the last part of my inheritance. And that's all in the next couple of days.

"I _still_ need to have someone go through the properties on my Dad's side, find out about the family... stuff, and go through an entirely _different_ set of inheritances! At this point, if I spend too much time on it, I'll go completely soft-headed, and I figured that once I got matters rolling on their own, I could take some time to safely disappear. I mean, how long will this expedition take?"

Roth shrugged at the question. "If everything goes right, not more than a month. If all else fails we find nothing, and spend a pleasant two months at sea before hitting the nearest port and getting everyone on planes for home."

"So the worst-case is I'll be a little late for the beginning of school, but self-study can help with that. And since I won't be being monitored by the Ministry, I can actually get some practical work in. So, what do you think?"

Roth looked at Grim, considering the situation. The funding situation was foremost in his mind, but he was deeply hesitant to take on a thirteen year old, no matter the benefit.

"Tell you what," Grim interrupted. "Give us a couple of days to talk it over. We'll have an answer for you by then, and hopefully you'll be able to get some of your stuff taken care of."

Harry smiled at that. "That's perfectly reasonable. I think we can leave that there then. So, I call you in two days' time. Out of curiosity, how much short are you?"

Roth sighed, and chuckled; Harry was dogged, much like his mother. "About three hundred thousand pounds, actually."

"Hmm. So about twelve thousand Galleons? Not difficult. Hell, I made more than five times that for the bounty on Voldemort, and I have another twenty thousand Galleons coming in thanks to the tax auditors. No, I'm being serious," Harry explained to Roth's startled expression, "the special bag I ordered cost more than this would. I wouldn't say that it's couch cushion money, but it's an amount I can easily invest comfortably."

Roth cringed slightly at that. "You're not making things easier, Harry."

"Hadn't meant to, sir. One more question. If you get the funding, no matter how you get it, how long will it take you to get everything set up to go."

"With funding, about two weeks."

Harry nodded at that. "Sounds fine. Either way, it gives me a 'just in case' option, as well as a plan for timing to get stuff in order on it's own. I'll treat it as if I'm going to be joining no matter what. It'll keep me from putting stuff off."

  
"That sounds like a good plan, lad," Grim admitted. "But before you step into Burlington House, might I recommend you get a better outfit?"

Harry looked down at himself, and realized that he was still in his school uniform, minus the sweater vest and tie. "Right, yeah. I keep meaning to get that done, don't I?"

Roth chuckled. "Tell you what, lad. How about you give us a call tomorrow, and we'll run you to Harrods. I'll grab Lara and her friend Sam; they'll know better what to help you get."

"It'll be nice to meet the person who could have been a sister," Harry admitted. "I'm not sure what 'the rest of my inheritance' means, though."

"Pretty likely," Grim commented, "that they wanted you to hit the Royal Society because Dickie Evans was a well-known member. Also, they'll have certain records that you'll be wanting, not to mention the holdings. And get you your title."

Harry started at that. "So, Bill wasn't messing around? Viscount, right?" Both men nodded. "But since Aunt Petunia was older than Mum, shouldn't her son Dudley be getting that?"

"Nah, lad," Grim replied, smirking. "Petunia was dating Vernon Dursley back in 1978. Dickie Evans objected, stating that if she married him, she'd be off the inheritance register. Your aunt, true to form at that point, flew off the handle, told your granddad that he could stick his bribery and threats, and eloped two days later. Your Mum went and married Potter the same summer. According to my people, Richard and Mathilda Evans, Richard Croft, Fleamont and Euphemia Potter all passed away in August of 1979. Fleamont and Euphemia from dragon pox, Dickie Croft from suicide, and Dickie and Mathilda Evans from a botched home robbery."

"Damn. Also, wow. I've gotten more of my family history in the past four days than I have in twelve years. This," he continued, pointedly at Roth, "is the main reason I'm wanting to do this expedition. Frankly, it plays to all my wants, and leaves me better off than I would normally be."

Roth held up his hands, saying, "I get it, Harry, I really do. And we have an agreement, so let's go about it that way, yeah?

"So," Roth diverged, slowly getting up from the picnic table, "where can we drop you off?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooof. This was a bit difficult to write, and I had to use a bit of the 'Writer's Heavy Hand' to push the plot forward towards where I'm wanting. Is it ideal? Not really. But I tried to make it as realistic and reasonable as possible.


	13. Lawyers and Investments

Roth and Grim dropped Harry off back to the Leaky Cauldron, and then proceeded to drive towards the London Docklands. Once they cleared Canary Wharf, Grim asked, "You've already decided, haven't you?"

Roth sighed at the question. "Almost. I feel bad about a thirteen year old boy offering so much money to get away from England. How bad is his damn home life?"

Grim shrugged. "I'm guessing with Petunia raising him, not grand. Hardly the 'Hero of Wizarding Britain' the way we've been hearing. But how badly are you needing this to go through?"

"The Endurance needs major repairs, more than we've been able to make do. The network money would've covered that. Field equipment doesn't update in a massive way very often, so we'd be okay there, even without the telly money. My biggest lurch is Lara. She desperately needs this opportunity to get her credibility with the various grant organizations up before she gets her doctorate."

"Aye, I get that. And according to Tom at the Leaky, when he stayed there last summer, he was almost a joy to room. Never made much of a mess. Always polite, extremely cheerful, although now I suppose we know _why_ he was so glad to be there," Grim ended, growling softly.

"Damn. Harry really isn't making this simple. Add to that making a contract with a minor, and things get fishy fast. I don't want to just take his money; there has to be verifiable, legal business affairs laid down."

"What will make your decision?"

"I have to talk to Lara about this. Whitman's too desperate to refuse, but God knows he won't be able to lay his hands on that kind of money anytime soon."

"True, true. So, how much are we _really_ short by?" Grim asked, side-eyeing Roth.

"Three hundred thousand pounds is the _minimum_ we're short by. Honestly, if we get very lucky, four hundred will set us up correctly for equipment and the like.

"So if we take the lad up on his offer, do we ask for four or three?"

"If we ask for four, he'll get a larger percentage. I don't care what Whitman says, it'll get done this way. And if Harry can get through the Royal Society, he'll have a lot of backing. Didn't Dicky Evans have his own foundation for grant writing?"

"Dunno," Grim responded. "I never got into the money side of things; I just drove the ships. You'd have to call around. So if Lara says yes, we'll take Harry with us?"

"Looks like. He said he's getting a solicitor, so he'll at least have someone to negotiate for him. And I'm pretty sure that that auditor is running Harry's investments; that will cover the legal issue."

"And just how are you planning to tell Lara that we might be bringing a wizard on board?" Grim cackled out.

Roth smiled. "Oh, _that_ will be the easiest part of all."  
*****  
Meanwhile, Harry was stepping out of the Owl Post office, having sent a letter off to Neville to see if his friend was available. In a fairly good mood after his talk with Grim and Roth, he wandered up and down the alley a little, taking in the sights and signs in a manner that was a little more speculative than before. His experiences over the past few days had rather pointedly shown him his shortcomings, and he wasn't happy about that.

He'd seen a number of legal practices within the alley, all of whom were understated. Rather than the often ostentatious signs hanging over most shops, every law office's sign was small, simple, and made of gleaming brass. Of course, Harry just kind of wandered back and forth, realizing that he knew nothing about how to hire a law specialist, or what to look for in their qualifications.

Harry stopped in the middle of the alley and thought for a second. 'The lady at the Ministry said my dad's old law firm was... Weasel, Stoat, and Strawberry. Right. Maybe I should ask around about them before anything else.'

Absolutely randomly, Harry walked into a law office. Seeing that there didn't seem to be any customers, he walked up to the desk, saying, "Hello, I was hoping to get a little non-legal assistance about a former legal practice."

The young man sitting at the desk blinked, processing what he'd just been told. "Alright," he drawled out. "How might we help you?"

"My family had hired the firm of Weasel, Stoat, and Strawberry before the end of the last war. I'd heard that they were wiped out, and was wondering if anyone knew anything about them."

"I see," the young man drew out. "A moment." Swiveling in his chair, he stood up and opened the door behind him. "Mister Bahr? I have a kid out here asking about an old law firm?"

The young man sat down as a tall, whip-thin older man emerged. Holding out his hand, he said, "James Bahr, young man."

"Harry Potter, sir," Harry replied, shaking it.

Harry almost didn't see the eye flick at his scar before the man asked, "I'm at a bit of a slow point today. What was your question?"

"The firm of Weasel, Stoat, and Strawberry, sir. I just learned that they were to have... probated? Executed? Anyways, done what my parents' will said."

"Executed, yes. Probate is a legal term for proving that a will is valid."

"Ah. Okay. Anyways, I was wondering if anyone knew what happened to them. The woman at Inheritances said they got wiped out, but..."

"But you were wondering if anything was left of them, or possibly if someone had taken over their caseload," Bahr finished, smiling lightly.

"More the first than the second," Harry admitted

"I do remember Weasel, Stoat, and Strawberry. One of the older firms, they handled legal matters for a handful of families that were more than six hundred years old. You see, once a family dates sufficiently far back, certain laws from that era still apply to them, and certain newer laws do not." Harry nodded his basic understanding; Neville, the Weasely Twins, and even Draco Malfoy had said as much in various conversations. "Unfortunately, the last war tore through the more specialized members of our society, and we're still recovering to this day. Henry Stoat, for example, was one of the premier legal minds when it came to law dating before the Wizard's Council or the Wizengamot. Fenris Strawberry was a master of contract law in all of it's ambiguities, and Sandra Weasel was an American who specialized in cross-fence legalisms, having not only undergone her Mastery in Magical Law, but also posessed a Master's Degree in Law from both Oxford and Brown colleges. This covered her in Magical Law, as well as muggle law for both Britain and the United States."

"Wow. That's amazing."

"Indeed it was, Mister Potter. Their law offices were gutted by fiendfyre in late September of 1981, the Dark Mark hovering above the ashes. As there has been no contact from any of the staff in more than a decade, they are indeed presumed to be deceased."

"Damn. No real leads, then." At Bahr's curious look, Harry answered, "I was hoping to find out what firm did the Potter legal work, and whatever remained of Weasel, Stoat, and Strawberry might have been a solid clue."

The secretary behind Bahr chuckled a little, as Bahr smiled gently, saying, "Ah, I see. A worthwhile cause, young man. Sadly, Weasel, Stoat, and Strawberry were the only law office I personally am aware of that the Potter family went through. A number of families had to find new legal counsel after the war, having to settle for newer, less experienced firms."

"Sounds like Vol... err, You-Know-Who hit a lot of vital infrastructure for the Purebloods."

"He did. The man was a maniac who did his best to gut our society and force everyone to rely exclusively on him," Bahr replied mildly. "We're still recovering more than a decade later. After all, experience takes time."

"Well, crap. Square one, I suppose."

"You look like you're needing some advice, Mister Potter. Feel free to ask."

"Well," Harry began hesitantly, "I've been told by a couple of people that I really need an attorney, or better yet a legal practice. But I don't know how to shop for that."

Bahr frowned, wheels clearly turning in his head. "Well, your first issue would be your age. A fellow your age wouldn't normally be allowed to sign contracts of employment."

Harry shrugged at that. "I have someone legally in charge of my investments. Pretty sure I can go through him to get that done on behalf of the Potter Estate."

Blinking, Bahr's face slowly rose into a smile. "What an excellent workaround. Well done, young man. In that case, all you need to do is figure out what sort of legal counsel you require, and go from there."

"What do you mean?"

"Due to the bizarre inconsistencies of legal prose, most legal experts are specialists of one sort or another. I, for example, specialize in contract law, while the man at the desk across from me specializes in tax law. The firm's senior partner specializes in criminal law, while the junior partner's specialty is legal law."

"Legal law?" Harry asked, entirely confused.

"Law as it applies to the people who practice it. Essentially he is a defense attorney specializing in lawyers."

"Oh. I never knew."

"It's rather like muggle healers," Bahr shrugged. "Some specialize in nerves, others in childbirth, and so on. While it may be a bit more expensive, there is nothing wrong with hiring individual law specialists from different firms to manage your legal affairs."

"Why might it cost more?"

"Conflict of interest. Let's say you hire me to negotiate a contract for you. Whoever drew up the contract might have hired a fellow down the hall from me to negotiate for him. Since we both work for the same firm, there would be something of a conflict of interest that would have to be resolved, drawing in the junior partner and requiring his services, thus raising the costs."

"That makes more sense than most things in the magical world," Harry muttered.

"It will," Bahr replied. "Muggle and Magical Law tend to run similarly, so we use the same terms and base rules.

"So what are you needing lawyers for, if I might ask?"

"I'm... not entirely sure?" Harry commented uncertainly. "I mean, the past few days have been crazy, and between the Right of Conquest, getting rejected from the Potter Vault, finding out my parents left a will that was never enforced, and leaving... what did she call it... Pensieve Testimony! That's it. Leaving that for Madame Bones, my summer holiday has been stressful."

Bahr blinked once at all of that. "Yes, I do believe that you need a legal team. Right of Conquest involves the Old Law specialists, the Potter Vault, well, that's a Gringotts matter, the will would be Bereavement Law, and pensieve testimony would be criminal law. Whether it's prosecution or defense comes down to Bones."

"Do you see my problem, sir?"

"Definitely. Yes, you definitely have several problems," Bahr mused aloud, clearly considering every angle of what Harry had just told him.

"As much as I would like to offer our services," Bahr began, "I feel that we're completely unqualified for that. For example, we have nobody sufficiently experienced to handle a Right of Conquest. The will would be simplicity; any law firm can handle that, but the criminal law issue could be sticky. Hmm."

Bahr rubbed his chin in contemplation. "How about this. Let me go into the office and ask the senior partner to refer you. We can't help you, but for a small fee I'm certain we can find someone who can."

"How much?"

"Since it's just a consultation, a galleon." Harry forked over the golden coin, and Bahr left. Fifteen minutes later he came back out, handing Harry a sheet of parchment. "You're in luck. This firm is new, but well trained in most of what you're wanting to get done."

"Thank you. And please thank the senior partner for me. I deeply appreciate it."

Harry stepped out, breathing in the scents of the alley as he flicked his eyes down at the parchment.

Dewey, Skruham, and Howe.  
#12 Nocturne Alley

"Hoot."

Sighing, he stuffed the sheet into a pocket as he cracked his neck and stretched. Sighing, he made his way towards Nocturne Alley, remembering the unpleasant time he'd has just before his second year.

"Hoot."

Trying to remember anything about the alley (apart from 'Nocturne is where the darkest of the dark wizards shop!'), he peered around, making sure he was on the right path.

" **HOOT!** "

Harry's head snapped around to see a small, brown owl sitting on what was at one point a post to tie up a horse. "Yes?"

The owl snapped it's leg forward, and Harry could feel the aura of offended discontent coming from the small bird. Taking the letter, Harry then pulled out a couple of Owl Nuts and held them out.

Seeming to nod, the owl grabbed both of the treats and flew off, leaving Harry to the letter in the middle of Diagon.

Opening it, he read,  
 _Dear Harry,_  
 _I was happy to hear from you, and I can be at the Leaky Cauldron at 4. I'll have to get back home by 8, but that should give us plenty of time to catch up._  
 _Sincerely,_  
 _Neville_

Harry smiled at that, then looked at his watch. Half past one. Two and a half hours. Harry figured that a couple of hours to make a preliminary check on the referred law firm should be plenty. After all, nothing said he had to get it all done _today_.

Making his way to Nocturne, he entered without hesitation, eyes flicking over the building numbers. Being midday, business was a little slow following the lunch hour, so there were fewer threatening people about. Granted, many people in hooded cloaks wandered from store to store, but at least he wasn't being accosted.

A few minutes later, he stood before #12. In direct contrast to the grimy, sleazy appearances of the other storefronts, the door was spotlessly clean, bright wood accented in gleaming copper and chrome trim. And there, attached to the door, was the brass plaque, exactly the same sort as all the other law offices.

Stepping inside (and marveling at the coolness in comparison to the muggy June heat outside), he stepped up to the desk, saying, "Hello. I was referred to your practice by another firm."

The extremely attractive woman (tall, willowy, slim and stacked, well coiffed red hair) behind the desk looked him in the eye. "Name and reference?" she asked pleasantly.

"Harry Potter, and James Bahr referred me, ma'am."

An eye flick to his scar preceded the woman nodding as she pressed several buttons on the desk. "One moment, Mister Potter. Miss Langley will be out in a moment."

Two minutes later, a blonde, professionally dressed, extremely attractive blonde woman stepped out of the door. "Harry Potter?" she asked in an American accent.

Harry wrenched his eyes up from her unbelievably massive chest, saying, "Yes, ma'am."

"Laura Langley," she stated, her hand snapping out. Harry's brain almost locked up at how her body wiggled at that, but still shook her hand.

"So, what can we do for you today?"

"Um," he stuttered slightly before getting ahold of himself, feeling his face redden. "I have been told by my investment manager and the head of the DMLE to get a lawyer, possibly a team. I figured since I was in the area, I needed to shop around for proper representation," he finished, feeling his embarrassment fading as he got his self-control assembled.

"I see. How about you follow me into the back, and we'll sit down and figure out what you need, versus what we can do for you?"

Harry nodded, and then followed her into a long hallway full of doors. At the fifth door on the right, she opened it up, leading Harry into a well appointed, very professional looking office.

Sitting down behind the desk, she asked, "So what sort of legal problems are you having, and what does a non-emancipated minor believe we can do for him?"

Harry blinked at that as he sat in the very comfortable over-stuffed chair. "I'm not 100% certain what all of my problems are, but I know some of them. I have a Right of Conquest and don't know what to do with it. My parents' will was never executed, and I may need a lawyer because I left pensieve testimony with Madame Bones this morning."

"Hmm. Nothing by halves, got it," she mused aloud. "And how exactly are you capable of signing a legal contract for services at your age?"

"I was hoping to get it assigned to my investments, and letting my manager handle that portion."

Langley laughed at that. "A slick move, Mister Potter. Legally untouchable, and the contract would be between us and... Who is your investment manager?"

"Slipshard, an auditor at Gringotts."

She whistled at the claim. "Damn. The contract would be between us and Gringotts. That's a solid arrangement that not a lot of people would go after. Alright, I'm intrigued. Assuming that we decide to move forward, what sorts of legal maneuvering would you want of us?"

Harry shrugged at the question. "I'll be honest, I didn't really come fully prepared for this. I was just in the area to meet with Slipshard, Madame Bones, and an old family friend. But when a Gringotts auditor and the head of the DMLE tell you to get a lawyer, it's definitely a good idea."

"Can't argue with that," Langley admitted. "Executing a will would be easy; pretty much any lawyer anywhere can do that. Pensieve testimony would require copies of the memories in question to arrange appropriate court defense, as well as both pre-emptive and counter suits. I'd need to know more about the Right of Conquest, but that can wait. Depending on the nature of it, I may have to part that bit out to someone else in the firm. Anything else?"

"Just a few questions, if you don't mind."

"Sure, go ahead. We'll need to be comfortable with each other if we're going to work together."

"Mister Bahr told me about specialties within law practices. What are your firm's qualifications?"

"Excellent question, and I was waiting for it. We are a very new firm; we've been licensed for only three years so far, which tends to drive off a lot of the higher money and profile clients.

"We're a small firm, with only four lawyers and three researchers. While most of us aren't specialists, we've all got more than ten years each working in the system in every conceivable legal role.

"For example, I am licensed to practice law in muggle and magical Britain, New York and federal law in the United States, as well as in MACUSA. I was an assistant prosecutor for the City of New York for six years, and was educated at Oxford and UCLA. To say that I'm qualified is an understatement."

Harry stared at that, his eyes wandering to the walls where several awards and diplomas hung.

"My head researcher specializes in the magical world, specifically magical Europe and the Middle East. Our secondary researcher specializes in international magical research, and our third focuses on magical Britain.

"I am a specialist in criminal defense due to my prior work, and have prosecuted cases both in the magical and nonmagical courts. My three co-lawyers have leanings towards specialization, but are generalist enough to make the most of any case.

"Does that answer your question, Mister Potter?" she asked, a coy smile lilting about her lips.

"Almost. What about the name?"

Langley laughed, slapping the table. "I take it you've heard the joke before?" Harry nodded. "Well, nobody in Magical Britain has. Pretty much everyone believes that we're a subsidiary of a foreign law firm, and never questions the name. In fact, you are the first client to ask us about it. Isn't that hilarious?"

A smile almost forced it's way across Harry's face as he replied, "It really is. Seriously? _Nobody_ has asked?"

"Nope! Not a one. Ohhh, my. I'll have to tell Alex. She'll love that. So," she continued, growing a little more serious, "what are you thinking?"

"I think... that I'm going to want to talk to my manager. He knows more about this stuff than I do."

"Good call. Here's a copy of our standard contract," she stated, pulling out a manila envelope. "It has everything that's needed, and we can work out what exactly you need when you get back with a list. Sound good?"

"Sounds great," Harry said in a relieved tone.

Twenty minutes later he was back at Gringotts, waiting to see Slipshard.

"Mister Potter, I thought we were done for the day?" Slipshard asked a wry grin on his face.

"We were. Until I decided to go solicitor shopping."

"Oh my. Well, what have you got?"

"Dewey, Skruham, and Howe, over in Nocturne Alley?"

Slipshard greened slightly at that. "You certainly don't aim low, do you?" he asked, feeling his stomach unsettle slightly.

"Is... is there a problem?" Harry asked nervously.

"Not as such, no. Just that you're wanting to hire the youngest, most blood-thirsty law firm in magical Britain. Seriously, those females are insane. Pure vein at what they do, but they are _harsh_ in what they do for their clients."

"'Pure vein'?," Harry asked.

"Apologies, Mister Potter. We goblins, like many subterranean species, tend to use mining terms. 'Pure vein' means a vein of ore that is nearly pure metal. The equivalent for humans would be 'top shelf'."

"Oh. Got it. So... a good find?"

"For the kinds of things you're needing doing? Oh yes. The Right of Conquest at Hogwarts alone would be as complicated as drilling in shale. That firm would plow through all the attending paperwork within a week, and have not only answers for you, but also a complete list of options for you to take that aren't illegal if only for the fact that nobody ever thought it was possible to pull off."

"Good, good," Harry mumbled in shock. "Been getting lucky this week. I was hoping it might be legal to list my legal fees under 'Investments' to get around my age for contracts."

"Given you keeping quiet for now about the Gaunt Line because of potential legalities, that's probably the best option. Granted, you _could_ sign contracts as the head of the Gaunt line, but it's probably inadvisable until we know more about it all. Anything else?"

"Um, here's the contract, sir. Also," he continued as he handed the envelope over, "I got in touch with Conrad Roth today. After Madame Bones told me to keep my head down while she investigates the memories I gave her, and I grabbed onto the best option I had before me."

"Which was?"

"Funding the expedition to Yamatai," Harry replied, watching as the goblin's eyebrows shot up. Hurriedly, he continued, "I figured since that you said it was a good investment, and Roth was listed in my parents' will as a possible legal guardian, so maybe the best way to be out of the way is to be, well, out of the country. Or hemisphere, for that matter."

Slipshard rubbed at his face with his hand in exasperation. "Not a _terrible_ idea, as such. Did you do any negotiating?"

"Not in the slightest. Mostly I just planted the idea. He said he'd have an answer for me in a couple of days."

"Hrm. I see. I recall that Roth was asking for an investment of four hundred fifty thousand pounds."

"Weird. He told me three hundred."

"As one of the team looking over the finances, I can honestly say that three hundred would be the minimum amount required. Four-fifty would allow for better long term repairs and better equipment for this sort of expedition."

Harry whistled at that. “So about... eighteen thousand Galleons, right?” Slipshard nodded. “Still doable. What was Gringotts’ original percentage?”

“For that amount, Gringotts standard contract takes seventy percent of all profits while recusing itself from claim to the discoveries.”

“Huh. Interesting,” Harry mused aloud. “Well, since I’m meeting with Roth tomorrow, and he’s bringing Lara Croft, who’s a researcher for this, maybe I can get some hints of what they’re actually looking for.”

“I can tell you what they’re looking for,” Slipshard interrupted sourly. “Ancient kingdom of Yamatai. Originally a large island according to legend. The immortal sun-queen Himiko, supposedly possessed of elemental powers. Storm and sea control, standard ocean deity stuff. An army of samurai sweeping in on the winds to lands challenging her authority, and so on. It popped up around 300 B.C., vanished around 300 A.D. Supposedly Samantha Nishimura, Croft’s friend, is descended from her.”

Harry rolled this around in his head. “So... a powerful witch with wind control spells. Big, ancient stuff, maybe used the magical flow of the kingdom to manipulate the weather.” Slipshard’s eyes widened, but he didn’t interrupt. He’d seen Harry’s earlier stream-of-thought revelations before. “Nobody knew where it was because ships would swoop in loaded with troops, propelled by an impossible wind. Once the queen died, the magics would have gone back to normal, and nobody, not even the inhabitants, would know where the capital was if the wind took them there accurately every time.”

Harry’s head snapped up. “It’s like Floo travel. If you just floo everywhere, all you know is the name of a place, not it’s actual location. Or apparation by coordinates. Or portkeys. Someone on a boat would never check the stars for a heading, because _they would never have to!_ ”

“I’m seeing where you’re going with this,” Slipshard ground out, grinning. “So, if the theory is ancient magical kingdom, then we can easily make things more palatable for Roth. Exclusive ownership of all magical items within the territory, thirty percent of sales profits, and Right of First Refusal over some items. How does that sound?”

“Sounds okay, I guess. Is that standard for Gringotts on a mixed magic/muggle expedition?”

“Mostly, yes. The percentage is a little lower due to Right of First Refusal, but the pertinent details are within line with what we usually offer.”

“So if we can offer the four-fifty...”

“That level of investment will make it worth your while, provided that the expedition is successful. Granted, with this new theory of yours, it may well mean the difference between success and failure.”

“Sounds like a plan, then. If Roth agrees to it, we’ll go with that offer?”

“We shall, Mister Potter. I’ll have Legal draw it up, and we can go from there.”

“Thank you, Slipshard. I have to get going; I’m meeting Neville Longbottom in about an hour.”

“You are very welcome, young man. Good luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness. I'm still (slowly) making my way there. It's coming together, just a LOT more slowly than I'd hoped for. Little complications keep popping up in the story, and I've been addressing them. Next chapter is DEFINITELY going to include Harry's chat with Neville.  
> Or else my wife may well glare at me.
> 
> Laura Langley. Yet another one of my personal characters. In my wife and my personal roleplay world, Laura is a top-flight lawyer for the City of New York. State and Federally qualified, her branching out into the magical world was simple given her background and connections. Interestingly, Laura would qualify for Magical Britain as a squib.  
> Image-wise, she is represented as Natasha Henstridge (Ghosts of Mars era), but with H-cup breasts. And she is ruthless in exploiting people in courtrooms underestimating her due to her being a stacked blonde beauty.


	14. Of Revelations and House Elves

"I'll be honest, mate. Magical Britain is _fucked_."

Harry blinked at Neville's opening line. They'd both gone to a private room in the Leaky Cauldron that Harry had rented for a couple of hours. After the usual pleasantries, Neville launched the discussion with that.

"Uh, alright, I wasn't expecting that, Neville," Harry replied nervously.

Neville's fingers drummed on the table in irritation. "Look Harry, you asked me to basically tell you all the stuff that you don't know, right?" Harry nodded. "Then that's where I'll have to start.

"First is the Wizengamot and the Ministry. Most of it is run either by purebloods or rich halfbloods. With the exception of the DMLE, there are almost no muggleborns in our government. Gran is one of the ones that's been lobbying for change, but there's just too much money, influence, and favors against it. The Hogwarts board of governors is exactly the same, all purebloods.

"With that kind of influence against them, muggleborns, or, well, _fresh blood_ has been leaving our society for decades. All that brainpower, skills paid for by our government in the form of education, all of the fresh ideas... Gone. Either they leave to other countries or give up magic entirely. With me so far?"

"Yeah. My account manager said the same thing a few days ago."

"Right. Good, good. That makes things easier," Neville continued, sipping at his butterbeer. "Of course, this directly affects the standard of education at Hogwarts. According to gran, Hogwarts had over twice as many elective options when she went there as they do now. This is because the Ministry, who pays for all of it, has taken the opinion that, since they have all these magicals being 'ungrateful', that they can simply cut out the 'extraneous courses' and have people learn the advanced stuff through apprenticeships."

"Wait. So they try to fix the end product, rather than the root cause?"

"Mm-hmm. Politics are the same everywhere, and I don't think there's a country out there, magical or not, that wouldn't go the route of not fixing the actual problem."

"Damn. Hermione's going to go _spare_."

Neville shrugged at that. "Hermione's great, but she's just one witch. Honestly, her best bet may well be to just leave magical Britain. Commonwealth nations tend to be better. That is, if she doesn't marry into an old family. That'd be people like you, me, Malfoy, and Ron."

"Alright, I get that Britain is messed up, and there's not a lot that can be done about it without topping most of the government. What are you _really_ saying, Neville?"

Neville held up a finger, and Harry waited for him to gather his thoughts. Finally, Neville said,"Alright. You asked me about family succession stuff. You were raised by your muggle relatives, you know nothing, and nobody's been inclined to share what's what.

"In all honesty, family succession tends to be an extremely private thing. I had to get permission from my gran just to have this talk with you. As Regent for the House of Longbottom, that's her right to allow or refuse. Are you seeing how difficult this would be for someone like Ron to discuss?"

Harry nodded, inwardly cringing slightly. Arthur Weasley was a good guy, but once Molly got her strop up...

"Anyways, like I wrote you, every family does their succession a little differently. With some it's 'being judged worthy', with others being of the bloodline is enough. My family's magics tend towards the worthiness thing; I have no clue about the other families."

"Wait, if it's so personal, how _are_ you allowed to talk about this with me?"

Neville sighed, rolling his left shoulder slightly. Harry knew this as one of Neville's nervous tics, and it signified that he was about to say something potentially contentious. "Because we're godbrothers."

"What."

Neville nodded slightly at Harry's flat expression. "My mum was your godmother, and your mum was mine. In case you didn't know, you and I were born about four hours apart, in the same hospital room in Blackpool. So there's that."

"So if I have a... Wait, you never say anything about your parents. Did they pass away?"

Neville shook his head, closing his eyes and gathering himself. "My parents are in St. Mungos, the long term spell damage wing. About a week after you dealt with You-Know-Who, the Lestranges and Barty Crouch Junior came after my parents and tortured them into mental oblivion with the Cruciatus. They're little more than coma patients now."

"But... Why didn't your grandmother take me in?"

"That's where stuff gets fiddly, mate," Neville began. "Mind, I'm going from memory on what I was told on this, so things will get a little... vague at times." Harry nodded, sipping his own American style milkshake he'd gotten from Fortescue.

"So three days after You-Know-Who fell, Gran was in the Wizengamot demanding that you be placed with us. Dumbledore, who was the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, but not yet Chief Warlock, stood up and said that, due to security issues with uncaptured Death Eaters, he had taken it upon himself to make certain that you were in the safest place in all of Britain. This went back and forth until a few days later when Longbottom Manor was attacked. With what had happened, Gran couldn't justify continuing the attempt at custody."

"Stands to reason," Harry commented.

"So ten years pass, you were in places unknown, and my family thought that I was a near-squib; we've covered that bit before. Then we meet on the train, and the next day I wrote Gran about you. Bad fitting clothes, too thin, cringed away from people. Gran had to _order_ me to keep mum on the godbrother thing. Not an excuse, mate. Just saying what happened."

"Did she say why she did that?"

"She did over the Christmas hols. Apparently just before we turned eleven, Dumbledore began making some serious shakes in the Wizengamot. Stuff about the role of legal guardianship within Hogwarts, the exact extent of the legal responsibilities of the staff, and so on. Nobody knew what it was all about, but a week later you were spotted in Diagon Alley along with Hagrid. Gran put it all together, and told me to keep a bit of a distance because of the back-end politics that Dumbledore was using, both in Britain and internationally. Apparently he pushed some sort of 'educational standards reassessment' through the ICW. I'm not sure about what all it does; you'd have to ask a solicitor about that."

"I will," Harry replied, already noting that down. "I just got a solicitor today, so I'm adding this to the list of things for her to look into."

"Good call, mate. We've been using the same firm for three hundred years. At any rate, Dumbledore was making waves, calling for increased legal authority over the students 'for their safety'. He kept citing that muggleborns were all but defenseless in our society, and since their muggle parents didn't really have any rights in a British magical court, someone had to be there to defend them.

"Of course Gran saw right through that. Dumbledore was always on the side of the muggleborns, but now he was introducing changes to law after several years as Chief Warlock? She wasn't sure what was going on at first, but once you popped in here, it all began falling into place for her. So she told me to hang back a bit and observe. Not that I was really ready for much more than that," he smiled lopsidedly, "but I did what I was told."

Harry nodded. "Makes sense, Neville. I understand that you don't want to go against your grandmother, and political implications make things messy."

"Too right," Neville replied, visibly relieved.

"So, family magics. What's the deal there?"

"Alright. So, every magical family that's old enough will make or find a so-called 'Seat of Power'. It goes back to the old wizards towers back in the old days. Never mind that wizards built towers so that any explosions would go off a hundred feet up, rather than at ground level where their neighbors were," Neville added, grinning. "Generally speaking, the older a family, the more powerful it's magics. Think of it like condensation in a greenhouse. There's no moisture in a new building, so you have to build up the plants and such, bringing in water until the whole thing becomes self-sustaining."

"Makes sense so far."

"Every family has their own way of passing down the magical power. Grimoires tend to be popular on the continent, in Asia there used to be a binding ritual involving vows, blood, and the earth of the land they were swearing to protect. Signet rings and pendants were popular in Britain from about 1500 to the early 1900s. These items were signifiers of a person's position, as well as portable focus points for the magical energies. After the last two wars, those signifiers lost a lot of fashion; too easy to tell someone's family affiliation by their jewelry, y'know?

"By tradition, the Family Head got the full access to the magics, while other house members got certain portions, mostly protective and such. Every house was different, and family magics are kept secret for a reason."

"Kind of like trade secrets," Harry commented. "After all, if it got out how you were making something, then everyone would be doing it, and all you'd be doing is throwing away money."

"Pretty much, yeah. Plus, well, unknown magics make things more difficult to counter, especially when the magic is nonverbal and doesn't require a wand. And most families had magical effects that were either automatic, or just needed the ring to be raised aggressively."

"Got it. Old family means old magic, old magic makes for a better defense."

"And that brings me to the other side of House Magics," Neville sighed out, popping open a fresh butterbeer. "Look, it's like this. House Magics are magics that have coalesced because many generations of magicals were successful. The magics run in a particular way because it's magicals operate in a certain way. Think of it like wand compatability.

"Anyways, the magics tend to... I'll go with _imprint_ on it's users. But like anything in nature, that imprint can go both ways. House magics will try to 'assist' it's wielders by influencing them towards 'behavior proven successful'. Do you see how that can get weird?"

"So, like a voice in my head telling me not to jump on a troll?" Harry asked, only a little cheekily.

Neville laughed at that. "Kind of. More like an aversion urge. I'm told it can be easily set aside, but mostly for adults. Most families don't pass the torch of power until the new head is in their thirties. This is to make sure that their heads are on straight, and they won't be overly influenced by the magic."

Harry leaned back, sucking up the last of his milkshake. "I get it. Someone like, say, Snape would be more in control of himself and less likely to get mentally rebuilt."

"Pretty much. According to my Uncle Algie, there was a case a few hundred years ago where someone basically dropped the House Magics into a three year old. The kid grew up as the perfect pureblood, but was literally the mental embodiment of the magics of his house. He had no actual mind of his own."

Harry whistled at that. "Ouch. Mind controlled by your own magics. That'd be weird if he knew any different."

"Yup. So for someone like you or me, getting the House Magics is more likely to influence us in ways we can't identify than someone of, say, Snape's age. Unfortunately, a lot of kids our age are going to be running their houses when we turn seventeen. The last two wars killed a lot of people, leaving kids to inherit on their majority. There's not much getting around it, unless the family uses a regent, like mine does, or the Bones family."

"So you're saying that it's probably not going to be a very good idea to take up the Potter family magic."

Neville shrugged at that. "Probably, but at the same time I don't know. Every set of magics is different. Your might be easier to work with than mine, might be more difficult. It's down to the relationship you have between you and your magic."

Harry massaged his brow, considering that. "Got it. Be careful about it, do what research I can."

"So what's all this about you not living with the muggles?"

Harry chuckled, then said, "Short form, Uncle Vernon threw me out over the phone, I stayed here at the Cauldron for the night, went to the bank to figure out my account, learned more than I was prepared for, and hit the Ministry's tax offices. Turns out there are four listed properties, so I rented a wizarding tent for a week while I have something more permanent built, and I'm staying in one of the properties in Staffordshire."

"Only you, Harry," Neville chuckled out. "Only you could get into strange situations and keep landing on your feet, even when out of school. If you don't mind me asking, where are the other spots?"

"There's a house in Orkney, which matches what your grandmother said about the 'Potter Seat of Power'. A townhouse in Blackpool, and a roman villa on the France/Italy border. And apparently the Ministry turned my parents' house in Godric's Hollow into some kind of memorial. The auditors are looking into that one. Something about a missing twenty grand that I was supposed to have been paid for it."

Neville whistled, shaking his head. "Damn, mate. You got a lot going on, don't you? Although I do wonder where your place in Blackpool is. We live outside of Blackpool, so we might be neighbors!"

"I haven't actually had the chance to go see the other properties," Harry admitted. "I just found all this out a few days ago, and I've been trying to keep swimming through it all.

"I mean, I found out I have an inheritance, my parents' will was never run up, my Mum's dad was a viscount and anthropologist, the main Potter vault won't let me in because of a weird security thing that Gringotts is looking into, two Rights of Conquest, and I spent an hour this morning coughing up memories to Madam Bones on what all's been going on at Hogwarts."

"Bloody hell, mate. School just let out a few days ago."

"Yup. And on top of all that, I met a man who _should_ have raised me as a son. So yeah, I'm having a rough time of things right now."

"So...," Neville hesitantly began, "this would be a bad time to talk about why you have so few friends?"

Harry's head thumped down onto the table. "Sure, why not. Kick a man while he's down, why don't you? Sadist"

"Drama queen," Neville shot back, smirking.

Harry finally raised his head enough to look Neville in the eye. "You might as well tell me. Why do I have so few friends?"

Neville leaned back, gathering his thoughts. "Well, you pretty much just have Ron and Hermione as friends. Think of them as the 'inner circle', yeah? From them stems the Weasely family in general, and with the exception of Percy, you seem to get along with pretty much all of them. Have you met Bill or Charlie?"

"Haven't met Charlie yet. Met Bill a few days ago. He works for Gringotts."

"Cursebreaker, right. Anyways, from there, the 'outer circle'. That includes your dorm mates, and the quidditch team. Outside of those two circles, you really don't associate much with anybody else."

"Got it. I'm insular, and more than a little bad at social stuff."

"What started the insulating was that little scene with Malfoy before our sorting. You refused his hand, and that set you in a particular mental image with a lot of purebloods. Never mind that you didn't know," Neville continued, heading off Harry's objections, "remember that pretty much every magical in Britain thought you had been living in a castle learning from the next incarnation of the Founders, or something. That first impression lasted a while, until some of them started seeing you for you, rather than the Boy Hero stuff.

"From there, some people have tried to approach you over the years. A few people from every house have tried to begin making inroads, only to find out that Ron and Hermione are essentially monopolizing most of your time. What time they don't monopolize is filled with quidditch, sleep, and classes.

"So let's break that down, okay? Hermione sucks up a ton of your time by making you study, almost invariably with her at your side. She's a great person, but she also tends to be extraordinarily argumentative about stuff that she doesn't fully aggree with. In addition, I'm pretty sure she didn't have a lot of friends growing up, and you being her friend with no strings attached would be as necessary to her as breathing. I'm pretty sure Hermione wouldn't be able to envision her life without you somewhere in it.

"Not that I'm saying she's drawing up the wedding or anything," Neville continued, grinning at the expression on Harry's face. "After all, isn't that Ginny's task? To marry the Boy-Who-Lived? No, what I'm saying is that you two make a great pair of friends, but the two of you don't really know how to range out, y'know?"

"I'm getting it," Harry admitted.

"And then there's Ron," Neville continued, his smile sliding off his face. "Lazy, gluttonous, self-centered, loud, abrasive, and pretty damn hateful. Automatically distrusts anyone from Slytherin, even thought I personally know for a fact that there are several people in Slytherin who are cunning and ambitious without being twats about it. Talks with his mouth open, spouts off at the mouth without thinking about anything, and he almost reflexively will argue about anything."

Neville paused for a moment, sipping at his drink. "That's not to say he's not a good guy, just that he's, well, a dick. And he doesn't have a problem showing that publicly.

"So, there you have it, mate. Two friends by whom you are judged. After all, if you didn't have so much in common, you three wouldn't be friends, yeah? That's what other people see, and how they decide whether or not to approach you."

"Well, fuck," Harry replied eloquently. "So how do I fix this? Any ideas, oh Great Master of Wisdom?"

"It's not going to be fun," Neville admitted, letting the crack slide. "Basically, you'll need to go out there yourself, away from Ron and Hermione. Hermione will be pretty easy to deal with; just say you're looking to expand your social circle. After all too few people tend to share ideas a little too much, and more points of view can be a benefit. Hermione will come around quick.

"Ron though," Neville groaned, shaking his head. "Ron's going to be a problem. Unfortunately, you may well have to tell him to play nice or piss off. It all depends on what way he jumps. Ron's a little random in that, and more than a little paranoid. But even he can't object to you hanging out with more than a handful of people regularly.

"I mean, look at me. I have my dorm mates, the Patil twins and I go way back, and I have a few good friends in every house, including Slytherin. Daphne Greengrass and I, for example, grew up playing together; our grandparents were in school together."

"I see where you're heading, Neville. It's a solid idea. I'll work on that over the summer. Or try to; I'm not entirely sure what I'll be doing, really."

"What's going on, mate?"

"You mean apart from all the stuff I mentioned a bit ago?" Neville nodded. "Madam Bones recommended I get out of sight for a bit while she did her investigating. Well, I met the guy who was last in my parents' will to raise me, and I kind of asked to go with his group on an archaeology expedition if I helped fund it."

"Wow. Go big or go home, mate. What did he say?"

"Said he'd think about it. Tomorrow he's going to take me to Harrods before I go to the Royal Society. I keep reminding myself to go clothes shopping, and keep forgetting."

"Royal Society? What's that all about?" Neville asked with a bit of awe in his voice.

"According to Bill Weasely, my grandfather on my Mum's side was a viscount. According to Grim and Roth, he did a lot of anthropology work alongside Richard Croft. Since the Royal Society is an academy of sciences, I'm guessing my Mum wanted me claiming the rest of my birthright there; it was in the will."

"Croft, Croft... Where have I heard that name..." Neville mused aloud. "Dammit, I know I've heard that name before..."

Harry shrugged. "If it's important, it'll come up again later. Or I'll find something out, probably when somebody else is trying to kill me, y'know?"

"Given your luck, probably," Neville chuckled out.

There was a knock at the door, and both boys turned. "Yes?"

"Mister Potter," came Tom's voice through the door, "there is a... house elf asking to see you?"

"Please send him in."

The door opened, and in walked Tom, followed by a house elf wearing the most eye watering collection of clothing possible. Dressed in a Westham United jersey dyed an almost glowing shade of red trimmed with gold, on his head was a neon blue fedora, and on his legs were long, rainbow striped stockings.

"Good afternoon, Harry Potter sir," Dobby stated, bowing slightly.

"Hello, Dobby," Harry said, smiling a little at both Tom and Neville's discomfort. "Thanks Tom, I'll take it from here."

The door closed, and Harry offered Dobby a seat. "Dobby could not believe that the great Harry Potter sir would write him. And with an offer of work, no less! How may I assist the great Harry Potter sir?"

"Great Harry Potter sir?" Neville mouthed. 

Harry shrugged, saying, "I was hoping you might need a job, Dobby. I am more than willing to hire you for some rather intensive work that I've got coming up."

"Dobby understands. What sort of work will you require?"

"When you worked for the Malfoys, what work did they have you doing?"

"Oh, all manner of things. Dobby would tend the gardens and greenhouses, cook the meals, clean the laundry and manor, dispose of the garbage, maintain and repair the outbuildings, and feed the peacocks."

"Holy," Neville breathed. "How many elves were on staff?"

"Just Dobby, sir."

"I mean, we have four elves, but they don't do anywhere _near_ that much each. Each of them has maybe three duties, and share the workload when they have spare time."

"The Longbottom family is a good family to not exhaust their elves," Dobby commented.

"Yeah, no," Harry began, "I don't want you doing anything that intensive, Dobby."

"Then what does Harry Potter sir require?"

"Basically, I'm thinking something along the lines of Estate Management. You see, I have four properties, well, five now, and I've only ever seen one of them. I was hoping to hire you to go to each of them and try to figure out what kind of work needs to be done on each. Once we figure out what needs to be done, we'd sit down and figure out how to get it all done, who to hire, and so on."

Dobby' head tilted back and forth for a moment. "Dobby could easily do this. Would... would the great Harry Potter sir trust Dobby with such a thing?"

Harry rested his hand lightly on Dobby's bony shoulder. "There's really nobody I'd rather trust, Dobby. You were trying to save my life last year, and I'll never forget that kind of friendship."

"Harry Potter sees Dobby as a friend?" Dobby's eyes somehow got more huge, and then he lunged forward, grasping Harry around the middle while openly weeping, crying out, "HARRY POTTER IS THE BESTEST WIZARD IN THE WORLD!"

Neville leaned back to laugh a little as Harry groaned at the pressure on his midsection. Finally, Dobby wound down and got back in his chair, hiccupping a little.

"You okay, Dobby?"

"Yes, Dobby is alright."

"So let's talk about pay, shall we?"

"Actually," Neville interrupted, causing Harry and Dobby to turn to him, "how about Dobby go out real quick and check the properties. After all, he should be aware of what sort of thing he gets hired for before making a deal, right?"

"Absolutely correct, Neville. Dobby, here are the apparation coordinates for the five properties. Take your time, get a proper view on each of them. Figure out how much work you'll need to put into each of them. Once we're done negotiating over your terms of employment, I'll buy a camera so that you can show me what all is going on, and so that we can plan accordingly. Does that sound fair?"

"That sounds better than anything Dobby could dream of," Dobby returned, smiling broadly. "I will go now, get the checks done. Hopefully Dobby will have something for Harry Potter sir before tomorrow."

"One of the properties is in France, so take your time, alright?"

"Of course, Harry Potter sir." Dobby bowed, and then popped out.

A moment of shocked silence reigned before it was interrupted with, "The Great Harry Potter sir?"

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, Neville. He called me that all through second year. This is the first time I've actually seen him since I tricked Malfoy senior into freeing him."

Neville finally fell over from laughing so hard. "Oh, it's too much! I can't breathe, it's so funny!"

"I guess you breathe differently; isn't keeping you from commenting," Harry mock-grumbled.

"So, hiring a house elf," Neville began, getting back into his own chair. "What's that about?"

"Basically, the Malfoys were a shit family that he was bound to. I helped get him free, so I'm not going to insult all of that by not offering to pay him."

"It's just that I've never heard of such a thing before. Then again, our house elves have been with the family for centuries. Same ones."

"Huh. I guess when Dobby and I get to know each other better, I'll find out more about that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to write this chapter from the perspective of someone raised in the Pureblood culture. Neville may seem to be rather out of character from his presentation in the books, but given that he is literally in his element, he'd be able to rattle this sort of stuff off without much hesitation. Add in that his grandmother is heavily in politics, and Neville has a grasp of Magical Britain that not a lot of kids would possess.  
> Also, writing Dobby is HARD. Keeping that kind of manic energy going is not something I was expecting.


	15. Wisdom, Wierd stuff, and a Mystery

"So Neville," Harry began, changing tracks, "I noticed you seemed a little less, well, shy than normal. What's up with that?"

Neville sighed. "Look, mate. I'm not a terribly social person. One on one, I'm fine. Around lots of people, I kind of lock up, you know? And in Gryffindor, it's really hard to get some quiet space to sort yourself. I've heard it's easier in Hufflepuff, but the support system there is phenomenal, according to Hannah."

"I get you," Harry replied, nodding in agreement. "I had a lot of problems with the same thing in our first year. Now that I think about it, Ron and Hermione pushing everyone away might have helped. I was a real mess," Harry admitted ruefully, "and the usual stuff at Hogwarts didn't help. Hell, it's only really now that I've been able to properly get my head around stuff and start asking questions."

"That explains your letter," Neville admitted while checking the clock. "Unfortunately, I have to get going. Zeppo has been watching one of my potions; I got some new plants in, and I'm checking to see how they're interacting."

"Potion?" Harry asked cheekily. "Has Snape been wrong this whole time? Has there actually been a young, talented potions master at Hogwarts all this time?"

"Ha ha," Neville responded, rolling his eyes while standing. "It's the social thing. You're better at filtering that stuff out, but being around dangerous plants _really_ bumps up your danger sense. And Snape is, well, an asshole."

"You're not wrong," Harry admitted. "Well, good luck, Nev, and... Huh."

"Hmm?"

"Random thought. You said that House Magics are 'what successful wizards have done', right?"

"They are, yeah."

"Could... could that be a factor of why wizarding Britain is stuck in the Victorian era? Because the Industrial Revolution happened, and the muggle world is moving too fast for the magics to keep up?"

Neville paused, eyes wide. Slowly, he said, "That may be a big factor. Because if the world is moving too fast, the measure of success wouldn't be what it was. So if the magics want to be 'successful'..."

"Then they'd have to influence their wielders to limit the changes where they can," Harry finished.

"It'd probably be a combination of old money and older wizards as well as the House Magics," Neville mused aloud. "There's a lot in that to unpack, Harry."

"You're not wrong. Travel safe, Neville. And feel free to write me as much as you like."

A few minutes of tidying up later, and Harry sat at the table, running over in his head what all Neville had revealed. "Ohhh, this is all so fucked," Harry mumbled, scrubbing his hands across his face.

A soft _Pop_ was heard, and Harry snapped his head around in time to see Dobby finish fading into the room.

"Harry Potter sir," the nervous house elf began, "we have a problem."

"What's happening?"

"Dobby checked Harry Potter sir's houses in Britain, as asked. The one in France will take a couple of days. But sir, the two properties near each other are bad."

"Bad? As in disrepair, or..."

"Dobby apologizes. I was unclear. One house has... trespassers? At least one wizard living there. The other house is full of dark magics and curses."

Harry frowned at that. "Which houses?"

"These two, sir," Dobby responded, pointing to the apparation coordinates.

"The Gaunt properties," Harry murmured. "The ones I got from the Right of Conquest." Standing up sharply, Harry said, "Alright, Dobby. I'll need to hit Gringotts, find out how much a cursebreaker team costs. And then I'll need to contact the auror office to clear out vagrants."

"Sir, Dobby suggests aurors first. The house is big, and in fair condition. Easier to fix up than the village. Plus, cursebreakers take time, while aurors are immediate, according to the old bad master."

"Got it. Thanks Dobby. Let's get to the floo and hit the ministry."

Harry turned to leave the room, and stopped when Dobby grabbed his hand. "Dobby can pop us both directly to the auror office, sir."

"You can? Brilliant! Let's go downstairs to tell Tom we're done with the room, and then get to the apparation point."

Ten minutes later, Harry was marveling at just how smooth Dobby's transit method was. No physical purging, no need to mentally reset, no discomfort at all. As the auror bullpen fade into view, Harry looked around to see pretty much the same kinds of activities as that morning.

Walking up to the front desk, he looked at the auror doing paperwork. "Excuse me, sir. Who do I speak to about dealing with squatters on one of my properties?"

The older man looked up, boredom and exhaustion written onto his face. "Durance and Flynn. Straight back, seventh desks on the right."

Harry thanked the man and headed in, Dobby at his side. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Durance and Flynn?"

There was only one man at the desk. A younger fellow with hair the color of sand, laugh lines were grouped around his eyes. "I'm Flynn. My partner's off getting takeaway."

"Auror Flynn, my name is Harry Potter. I recently came into some properties, and my house elf tells me that one of them has squatter."

Flynn blinked, finally noticing Dobby. "I see. Not that I don't believe you, but do you have evidence that you own the property?"

"Right here. Straight from the tax offices this morning."

Flynn passed his wand over the sheet. Nodding as it glowed green for a moment, he said, "Everything seems to be in order. I'm seeing two properties on this. Which one is it?"

"Dobby?"

"The second one, auror sir," Dobby replied. "The first one has dark magics laced through it, but is empty. The second one has no magics, but has at least one wizard inside. It also has a muggle in a house on the edge of the property. Dobby guesses that the old muggle is groundskeeper."

Flynn nodded at that. "We'll have to ask the local constabulary about the muggle, go in to check about the wizard. How do you want this handled, Mister Potter?"

"Gently, if possible. Might just be a drunk sleeping it off, or a wizard who chose an abandoned house rather than deal with the wife and the couch."

Flynn chuckled at that. "We can do that. I'll send the report up to dispatch, and we'll probably be able to head there in an hour or two."

"Thank you, Auror Flynn. I really appreciate it."

Fifteen minutes later, Harry and Dobby walked into Gringotts. Harry approached an empty station, saying, "Good evening, sir. I am Harry Potter, and I'd like to talk to someone about dealing with some curses and dark magics on a property I recently came into."

The goblin grunted, but gestured at the door behind the teller station. Following the hallway, he found himself at a door simply marked 'Curse Breakers'. He went inside and stepped up to a table where an extremely elderly man was waving his wand over what appeared to be a brick.

"Excuse, me, sir?"

The man's head snapped up, his long, white hair flying everywhere, and Harry could see that he was wearing goggles. "Yes?" he demanded in a confused tone.

"My name is Harry Potter, and I have a house that's cursed. I was hoping to hire someone to deal with this for me."

"Ah! I see!" the man exclaimed. "I'll need proof that you own the house, and then we can work up a contract!"

Harry, beginning to wonder if the man spoke _exclusively_ in mild shouting, said, "Here's the proof of ownership from the Ministry's tax offices. And I have to wonder why everyone keeps asking for this. Do I look untrustworthy, or something?"

"It's because cursebreaking used to be used exclusively to bring down wards. Not that long ago, cursebreakers were hired by families to lay siege to another family's center of power," the excitable man stated. "It wasn't until the late 1700s that professional cursebreakers began charging obscene rates, stating that we were committed to neutrality."

"Huh. Makes sense."

"Indeed! Now, what kinds of curses are on your new property?" he asked eagerly, a hint of madness in his eye.

"Dobby?"

The house elf finally came out from behind Harry, badly startled at the cursebreaker's loud (but not unfriendly) attitude. "Sir, Dobby popped to the location, and saw a big net of curses, sensory charms, and nasty magics laid over an old shack. The spells are nasties, reminding Dobby of the bad old days."

"Which bad old days?" the elderly cursebreaker eagerly demanded.

Tugging nervously on an ear, Dobby replied, "The bad old days which _mustn't be spoken of_."

"Ah, I understand! Might you have a more detailed description?"

"Dobby does. Sort of. Um, Harry Potter sir? Dobby would like to ask for a favor."

"What is it, Dobby?" Harry asked gently, not wanting to further startle the excitable elf.

"May Dobby use a little of your magic, sir? Normally, a house elf can draw on a bond's magics, but as Dobby is a free elf, Dobby's resources are a bit limited."

"Of course you can, Dobby. We'll have to talk later about what we both need, but for now using a bit of my magic is fine."

" _Fascinating_!" the cursebreaker breathed. "I've never heard of such a thing! A free elf? Borrowing magic? _Lending_ magic?! Astounding!"

Dobby took Harry's hand, and Harry felt what could almost be described as a tickle flowing between the bones of his forearm for a couple of seconds. And then Dobby let go and stood there, eyes closed, seeming to vibrate while holding completely still.

Almost a minute later, Dobby's eyes finally opened. "Dobby always knew Harry Potter sir was a powerful wizard. Dobby never knew Harry Potter was _this_ powerful," he breathed.

"Are... are you alright, Dobby?"

"Yes, Harry Potter sir! Dobby is amazing! Oh, right, yes. Crazy wild sir wants the wards, yes?"

"That's correct!" the cursebreaker exclaimed. "So, what were they about? What will my boys and girls be up against?" he nearly demanded, vibrating almost as intensely as Dobby in his curiosity.

"Dobby will show."

Raising his hands, the room seemed to dim slightly as Dobby coalesced light between his palms. Within seconds the ghostly image of an ancient, abandoned, ramshackle house came into view. And then lines of color began forming. Harry likened it to a sieve made of colored thread, as the many, many different colors were interwoven so thoroughly.

Finally, Dobby stopped adding to the image as the cursebreaker leaned forward. "Fascinating! Yes, yes, I see now! The blue lines are sensory, the reds are commands for the green line curses, the yellows are... Hmm, I'd have to say delayed effects for spells. Most likely to go off once a person is well inside the network. The mauve lines seem to be herbological magics, and the bright purple ones are... Nothing I've seen before."

Standing up straight, his eyes as wild as his hair, he exclaimed, "Never! Never have I seen this kind of magic! Young man, I do believe we shall take this project!"

Harry just stood there as the man vigorously shook his hand, wondering if all cursebreakers ended up with this kind of mania. "So, the contract, sir?"

Dropping Harry's hand, he turned to a pigeon holes cabinet, running his hands along the scrolls. "Yes, yes, of course! Now, is time of the essence?"

Harry shrugged at the question. "Not really. I'm just trying to get my properties in order. I don't mind if it takes a while to get it done right."

"Excellent! In that case, the cost will be lowered; rush jobs always cost quadruple due to the risks."

"Crazy sir," Dobby interrupted, "there is one more thing." The man paused, turning to look at Dobby with absolute focus. Dobby tugged on his other ear, saying, "Dobby sensed... _something_. Something inside. It felt like the bad master's book, Harry Potter sir," Dobby ended with a whisper.

"Damn," Harry muttered. "Sir, do you know Bill Weasley?"

"Hmm? Oh yes! He's an excellent young man. Hard worker, very intelligent. Definitely going places."

"Well, his little sister came into contact with a cursed book a couple of years ago. She was slowly being possessed by a memory of Voldemort that had been stuck in the book."

The man frowned, dashing to a bookshelf. Pulling out two volumes, he demanded, "What kind of memory? Was it possession, or regaining corporeal form?"

"Err... The second one, I think. He talked to me as Ginny was unconscious, saying that her life would revive him. I think that's what he said, anyways."

Flipping through the books, he finally came to the page he was looking for. "Damn. Yes, now I see. I'll have to talk to Weasley about this, get a better description of the whole mess."

"Actually sir," Harry interupted, "the auditor Slipshard has a pensieve memory of the entire incident when the memory was attacking me."

"Oh! Amazing! That will help immeasurably!"

"Crazy sir, does you know what the thing is?"

The man snapped his gaze to Dobby. "Oh yes, good sir! It's called a horcrux." At Dobby and Harry's lack of expressions, he explained, "Through the use of a _disgusting_ ritual, a wizard can tear off a strip of his soul and bind it into an object. The object is then invariably bound with protections to keep people from destroying it, releasing the soul fragment.

"Interestingly," he continued, now carrying a manic tone of lecture, "this would explain why You-Know-Who was so difficult to kill. This manner of immortality would be effective against almost everything, and I've heard of him surviving cutting curses, blasting hexes, and even Fiendfyre! Granted, the so-called 'immortality' is total bunk. After all, if it worked as _actual_ immortality, we'd be up to our bungholes in ancient greeks and egyptians!"

"And Dobby says there's one of these in the shack? Damn," Harry muttered, shaking his head. "I guess this is what I get for claiming the Right of Conquest over Voldemort."

"Wait, you what?" exclaimed both Dobby and the cursebreaker.

Harry sighed, explaining, "A few days ago, I claimed the Right of Conquest over Tom Riddle, better known as Voldemort. This shack is part of that."

"Further astoundment!" the aged cursebreaker exclaimed. "This could be groundbreaking! Actual history of... Wait," he paused, his eyes narrowing. "What was your name again?"

"Harry Potter."

"Of course! Yes, claiming your defeated enemy's resources is _always_ a good move, even if you're just going to destroy them!"

"Okay," Harry agreed. "Now, to sum up, the house has a dangerous magical artifact, quite possibly unknown spells and dangers. And your team will take it's time in cracking this open, yes?"

"Of course! Granted, there is a clause that covers us in case the place implodes, catches fire on it's own, or otherwise self-destructs. It's a hazard of the job, so it's in the contract stipulations."

Harry nodded at that. "Makes sense. After all, nobody wants to get penalized for something that's not their fault."

"Precisely. Now, as for the contract... Oh, do you have a vault, young man?"

"Yes, sir. It's currently being managed by Auditor Slipshard, I think. At least, that's how he came across to me."

"Good, good. I'll take this to Legal, they'll take it to Auditor Slipshard, and Slipshard will take it to... Do you have a solicitor?"

"I do. Laura Langley at Dewey, Skruham, and Howe."

"Good, good. He'll take it to them, they'll go over it, and then they'll have you sign it. Everything in order, and that'll give me time to round out a proper team for this."

Harry and Dobby said their goodbyes and left the bank. "Harry Potter sir," Dobby began, "Where are you staying?"

"At the village manor. Why do... crap. Dobby, would it be too much to ask for you to pop me there?"

"Not at all, sir. Dobby would be happy to. Although, if Dobby might be so bold..." Harry nodded for Dobby to continue. "May Dobby stay with you, sir? Dobby doesn't know where else to go just yet."

"Sure thing, Dobby," Harry smiled. "We homeless people have to stick together, right? My tent has a very comfortable couch; you can sleep there if you like."

*****  
June 10, 1994  
7:41 P.M.

Amelia Bones had _finally_ caught up on her paperwork, and was shrugging into her traveling robe when her badge alert went off.

" **All Call at Residence! Little Hangleton! Spells Fired!** "

Swearing as she dropped the robe and headed out of the office, she cleared the door just in time to see a squad apparate out. Stalking up to the Duty Desk, she demanded, "Where?"

"These coordinates, ma'am," the duty sergeant replied, handing over a slip. "It was written up as a squatter, aurors arrived and suddenly we have spells cast."

Memorizing the coordinates, she apparated to Wiltshire. Just past a wall lay a large old manor house on a hill, and spellfire ran unchecked from between aging statuary and unkempt shrubbery. Dashing forward, she began casting shields , trying to block some nastier spells from catching her aurors.

A flicker of blue at her left forced her to dodge right as a statue was transfigured into life, swinging marble fists at her even as she rolled and came up, almost reflexively hitting it with a banishing charm. Instantly the statue flew away, shattering against the outer wall of the property even as ancient stones cracked under the force.

And then there was silence. No spellfire, no running, nothing. Looking around, she didn't see anyone, so she called out, "Bones 4378!"

"Flynn 1712!" responded a wheezing voice near the house. Running over, she saw an auror struggling to bind a nearly severed leg on his partner. Judging by the man's robe, Flynn was at least struggling with cracked ribs.

Casting her own medical binding spell, she then tapped her badge and called for healers. Once she got Flynn seated against the wall, she stated, "Report."

"Ma'am. Harry Potter came in at about 5:30, asked us to deal with a squatter. He thought it might be a drunk sleeping it off or something. His elf warned us about the muggle, so we hit him with a sleeping charm before advancing on the house.

"Once we got inside, oh, it was a little after seven, we saw a chubby, balding man with a baby. We approached him, and he waved a wand and made a table attack us. That's when we saw the huge fucking snake. Durance's blasting hex just bounced off of it, so I banished it down the stairs after I blasted the table.

"By that time, the fat guy had grabbed the baby and jumped out the window. Durance gave chase as I made the call for support, and then headed down the stairs. That damn snake kept coming, no matter what I used on it! I ended up using a modified shrinking charm on a chunk of the floor, dropping the snake into the cellar.

"I got outside in time to see a bunch of animated statues fighting aurors, and the fat guy was running around the side of the house. I pursued, and rounded the corner in time to see the snake come out of a cellar door and wind itself around him, at which point he, the snake, and the baby apparated out. I found my partner bleeding out and rendered first aid."

"Good work, Flynn," Bones said consolingly. "We'll go through the pensieve memory once we get everyone stable."

Three hours later, as well as an elf-delivered note to Susan apologizing for her likley not being home that night, she finally came out of the pensieve memories submitted by Flynn and Durance. Fortunately, no unhealable injuries had occurred during the altercation. But the entire encounter had been surreal, as neither auror, during the stress of the battle, had noticed a number of key things.

First was that the 'baby' was either hideously deformed, or some sort of homunculous. She was leaning towards the latter, as just before the fat man apparated away, she could hear it hissing something, and the massive snake adjusted it's course away from the auror.

Second was the wand that the fat man used. It was singularly iconic and infamous in the wizarding world, especially to those who had fought in the last war. The yew wand carried by Voldemort had taken lot of lives.

Third was all of the transfiguration. She noticed that almost all of the direct spell castings were done by her aurors, while the fat man used advanced transfiguration to slow down and combat his pursuers. As knowledgeable as she was, she knew that the use of such magics were the hallmark of a man with a Mastery in transfiguration, or an animagus. Essentially the same thing.

Rubbing her forehead, she puzzled at the bizarre mystery. Why would someone with that level of transfiguration mastery be holed up in an abandoned house? Why would a homunculous be the size of a baby? And why was the snake so heavily spell-proofed?

With no answers forthcoming, she pulled up the paperwork and tried to exhaust herself with that. There would be no going home that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having flipped through The Goblet of Fire, I am now aware that Voldemort and Pettigrew got to the Riddle House in what is apparently August, shortly before the Quidditch World Cup. I reset that to early June for the purposes of my story.
> 
> As for Pettigrew being this magically capable? Well, nowhere in the books does it really go into his skill levels. However, animagi are defined as being extraordinarily skilled in the arts of transfiguration, so I went with that route for him.
> 
> Lastly, the elderly Curse Breaker at Gringotts is based off of Emmett Brown from Back To The Future.


	16. A Tent in Staffordshire

June 10, 1994 10:40 P.M.  
London Docklands  
Conrad Roth once again cursed his current dilemma. He'd had to send Jonah out to rescue Whitman; apparently the moron had decided to try to sell antiquities _on loan from museums_ to the local leader of the Chinese Triad. Jonah had only been grazed, but Roth was seething inside at Whitman's stupidity.

On top of that, their computer expert Alex Weiss, had come up with some sort of scheme to siphon money from online gambling run by InterCasino, whose servers were currently based in the Isle of Man. He'd managed to get a few grand before the cryptographic software had managed to almost backtrack the siphon.

And this was all just in the past few hours.

"Roth? Is everything alright?"

Looking up from his cigarette, he saw a familiar silhouette in the doorway. "Not really, Lara. Whitman's an idiot, and Alex's idea just didn't work out."

"We... we can talk to Sam's family. I know they have money, and Sam's been needing a definitive project for her own coursework," Lara Croft said, stepping up the the railing where Roth was smoking.

Roth shook his head at that. "Worst comes to worst, maybe. But I had a different offer, lass."

"How bad?" Lara asked.

Roth turned back around, looking out on the black water. "Not bad as such, just... Inappropriate."

"What, like organized crime wants to fund us? We get the money, and in turn we smuggle heroin to Northern Russia or something?"

"Nothing like that, girl," Roth laughed out, lighting another cigarette. "Do you remember Richard Evans?"

"Barely," she admitted. "I remember Petunia better; she babysat me a lot while Lily was at boarding school."

"The one making the offer is Lily's son, Richard's grandson."

Lara paused at that. "But that would make him, what, fifteen?"

"Fourteen the end of next month. Lily married James Potter, and would have inherited the Evans Foundation and title had she survived. Petunia was barred from inheriting because she eloped with a social climber."

"Damn," Lara replied. "Thirteen... How the hell does he have the kind of money we need?"

"Because the Potters were old money. There were some... other factors involved. Suffice it to say that he _does_ have the money to spare to fund us."

"But... thirteen, Roth!"

"I know!" Roth growled out at the darkness. "I don't want to take him up on this, but at the same time we really don't have much choice if we want to move forward.

"From a purely business angle, he'll give us a better percentage than the bank we went to ever would. The deal with them was solid, but Whitman would _never_ have gone in for a seventy percent cut, no matter the experienced personnel that they would have provided.

"From a personal perspective, Lily Potter set me in her will to raise him. He would have been like a brother to you, Lara. Apparently he was stuck living with that shrew Petunia after his parents passed in 1981. He's been getting his shit together over the last few days, and his primary stipulation is that we take him with us."

Lara frowned at that. "What about his schooling? Most schools restart in September; would we even make it back in time?"

"We can easily do the expedition, and then steam to Manila, Tokyo, or Hong Kong and stick him on a plane back to England," Roth admitted, flicking the cigarette butt away. "Besides, not everyone in his situation goes to that boarding school. Many of them are home-schooled, or have independent tutors."

Lara's eyes narrowed as she said, "There's something important here. What aren't you telling me, Roth?"

"Heh. Good instincts, girl," Roth chuckled out before turning deadly serious. "This _cannot_ get out, do you understand? What I'm about to tell you, if it gets out, could get you and anyone you tell mind-whammied."

"Mind... What's going on?" Lara asked skeptically.

"Look, Lara. Magic is a very real thing in this world. In the late 1600s, magicals went underground, hiding that they had magic. Some places, like America and Asia, the magicals live side-by-side with their non-magical neighbors, hiding their magic rather than the magicals. Other places, like Britain and most of Europe, the magicals hide away from the non-magicals in independent communities. Non-magicals who find out tend to get their memories of magic modified so that an international panic doesn't break out.

"The terrorism during the Seventies? That was a war between the magicals, and then our government managed to blame almost all of it on the IRA to keep the non-magicals from finding out about it.. The Irish simply took that blame and properly owned it into the Eighties.

"Harry Potter, grandson of Richard Evans, is a wizard. Wand, robes, owl, flying broom, the whole thing. My little sister is a witch, graduated from a magical school in France in 1984. Grim is from a magical family, but has no ability to use magic himself. They're known locally as Squibs."

Roth then looked Lara directly in the eye. "The Crofts are a long line of squibs. Richard Croft knew and said nothing, there was no point in missing something you never had, right?"

Lara reeled back at all of that. On the face of it, the whole thing was ridiculous. On the other hand, Roth wasn't known for his ability (or willingness) to lie to her. "Roth, this is..."

"A bit much? I agree. But it had to be said. And in all honesty, I know that Grim and Jonah know about this sort of thing. Grim's cousin is a squib that works in the magical community, and Jonah has the instincts of someone with magical blood. He may well be a squib, or something else entirely. Hell, he may have a touch of non-human in him."

"This is really crazy," Lara slowly admitted.

"As crazy as an ancient Japanese queen with shamanistic, elemental powers?" Roth smirked out.

"That's different, Roth! Myths having a basis in fact is one thing, but this-"

"This would put an entirely different spin on matters," Roth finished for her.

"Yeah," Lara admitted. "So what did you tell him?"

With a sigh, he replied, "That I'd have an answer for him in a couple of days. In the meantime, I'm wanting to at least take him clothes shopping. In Lily's will she told him to get to the Royal Society for the rest of his inheritance, and all he really has are school clothes. No idea what that means, but I'll help him at least this much."

"That's good of you," Lara admitted.

"Just trying to do right by an old friend," Roth stated a bit defensively. "Although, would you be willing to come along? And bring Sam? I'll admit," he continued ruefully, "that I know fuck all about fashion. Plus it'll give you time to meet him."

"I think I can do that," Lara laughed out. "And taking Sam shopping? I'd have to chain her to the deck to keep her away."  
*****  
June 11, 1994  
5:38 A.M.

Harry Potter rose with the dawn, yawning and stretching as he shuffled out of the bedroom of the tent. Setting up his morning tea, he heard soft snoring coming from the living room. Glancing out, he saw Dobby sprawled out under a sheet, as if he was trying to claim the entire couch with his spindly body.

'Oh yeah. I let Dobby bunk here,' Harry reminded himself. 

The kettle whistled, and Harry made his morning tea, welcoming the change from the eternal pumpkin juice. "Seriously," he mumbled, sipping his tea, "you'd think whoever cooks at Hogwarts would realize that there's more fruit than pumpkins. Wait, are pumpkins even a fruit?"

Shaking his head while donning his dressing gown, he stepped out into the rising dawn light. Once more, the single beam of sunlight caressed it's way down the pillar at the center of the village, gleaming and sparking all the way down.

An owl wheeled around the pillar, finally alighting on the back of the lawn chair Harry had kept out. As Harry took the scroll, he saw the owl was wearing a kind of vest marked with the symbol of the Ministry.

_Mister Potter,_   
_Last night at approximately 7:00 P.M., Aurors Flynn and Durance arrived at your residence on the edge of the muggle community Little Hangleton. There they encountered the trespasser that your elf spoke of. A spell battle resulted, and unfortunately the assailant(s) escaped capture._   
_The aurors are free of serious injury, and I will need to speak to you as soon as possible. I am needing to go over this in full with you, the land owner, as well as hoping you can help identify the wizard that my aurors encountered._   
_Sincerely,_   
_Amelia Bones_

Harry sighed, shaking his head. "Seriously, will I _ever_ get a damn break?" he snarled, turning to enter the tent.

"Dobby hopes that Harry Potter does not mind Dobby having some of his tea, sir."

Blinking blearily (and mentally noting that he was probably going to need something stronger than tea in the future), he saw Dobby sitting in a chair. The seat of the chair had been piled high with books so that Dobby could reach the table.

"Not at all, Dobby. Help yourself," Harry mumbled out.

"Is Harry Potter alright?"

"Not really. It's too early in the morning for it to be this early in the morning," Harry replied, sitting himself down at the table to refill his own cup. "Amelia Bones sent me this."

Dobby reached over, taking the scroll to read. "Oh dear," Dobby sadly stated. "Dobby never meant for aurors to be getting hurt."

"Me either. I'll need to hit Amelia's office before Roth comes and picks me up today. Ohhh, I just wanted a quiet damn morning."

"May Dobby help at all?" the house elf asked nervously.

"Maybe. But if I pull you away from checking out all of the properties, I'll _definitely_ be paying you more."

"Dobby understands. Perhaps, if you tell Dobby your plans, I's can be helping?"

"Sure, why not?"

The next half hour was spent telling Dobby the high points of the last few days. From his accounts, to the Rights of Conquest, all the way down to Roth and the will. Dobby considered all of this carefully before saying, "No offense, Harry Potter sir, but that is messy."

"Fucked. The word is 'fucked', Dobby. So screwed up that I have to figure out how to unfuckup this entire mess that my life, apparently, _has always been_ , and I _just now_ found out about it! Argh!" Harry screamed, clutching at his head.

Dobby was almost instantly at his side as Harry slowly dropped out of his chair. In under a minute Harry croaked out, "Damn stress headaches..."

"Can Dobby get Harry Potter anything?"

"No," Harry breathed out. "It'll go away. I'll be fine."

"If sir says so," Dobby replied doubtfully as Harry shakily got back into his chair. 

"May Dobby make suggestion?"

"Absolutely, Dobby."

"Dobby recommends lists. List for law witch, list of properties, list of stuff to get done. Then you order it all."

Harry smiled at the simplistic view that Dobby was presenting him with. "Thank you, Dobby, I was getting really worked up over all of this."

"Dobby see," he replied with a small smile. "Dobby sees that you have a lot from a short time, so taking a moment to get order is a goodness, yes?"

"Right, right. Yeah. Let me cook us some breakfast and I'll get on that before I take the portkey back to Diagon. Any requests?"

"Does Harry Potter sir have any fruit?"

"Yeah, I have some in the stasis box."

"House elves prefer fruits and vegetables, sir. Meat gives us the ick," Dobby commented.

"Raw or cooked?"

"Either is fine, sir."

An hour later, with Dobby at the sink doing the dishes (he insisted, as Harry cooked them some grilled vegetables for breakfast), Harry sat down and pulled out a notebook. Comparing notes from his different pages in his pocket notebook, began collating assignments.

Solicitor Tasks:  
Enacting the Will  
Right of Conquest and Hogwarts Charter  
Title(?) and Royal Society  
If not from Royal Society, get Evans family assets  
Boy Hero series (Who started? Who got me 60%?)  
20k Payout for Cottage  
Damages for Dementor Exposure?  
Tax Rating Issues (cooperate with Tax Office)  
Potential Potter properties shielded from detection?  
Godric Hollow Cottage stasis  
Last Scion legal benefits?  
Life Debts  
The Dursleys (do I even want to?) 

Gringotts Tasks  
Mail Issues  
Healer Morgan, Healing old injuries  
Basilisk, Hogwarts Wards, Chamber of Secrets  
Contract with Roth  
Investments  
Issues with Vault Access  
Gaunt Shack and Curse Breakers  
Reading from the Scar

Dobby Tasks  
Check on all known properties, add to list if any come up  
Determine requirements for entry (if needed)  
Get estimates on rebuild vs repair per location  
Assign separate fund for property work and Dobby's pay

Setting the pen aside, Harry worked his hand back and forth, uncramping his hand. Seeing that Dobby was done with the dishes (and was almost moping for there being nothing for him to keep occupied), Harry asked, "Dobby, I have a couple of questions about last night at Gringotts, if you don't mind."

"Certainly, Harry Potter sir. Dobby would be happy to answer," he replied, hopping up to sit on the couch.

"I don't want to ask anything too personal, Dobby, so please tell me if I'm getting inappropriate."

"Dobby will, sir."

"Yesterday at Gringotts, you needed to borrow some of my magic. Why was that?"

Dobby sighed, hanging his head a little. "Usually, a bonded house elf can draw on the magic of it's master when it's own magics are insufficient. Dobby has much power, but finite over long periods. Being in a powerful magical place, or being bound to a family, allows much faster recovery of power. Think of an elf's magics being like a tub. Using magics over time like to drawing water, yes?" Harry nodded. "But tub is needing refilled at times. Natural method is to let nature slowly fill us at a calming trickle, but that method takes time. Or, with being bound to a family or a wizard, the trickle becomes a tap. Nearly bottomless, as wizards let magic flow through them, rather than have a tub of it.

"Yesterday, the illusion magics used was just pushing light around, but would have been most draining to Dobby. Dobby would have fainted from the combined efforts of popping us around and then making the wards illusion. Sir was most kind to allow Dobby to use his magics to support Dobby's."

"Wow," Harry breathed. "That's definitely different. So let me see if I've got it right. House elves have a bucket of magic, while wizards have a stream. One runs out and needs refilling, while the other flows continuously. The trade-off is outright power output. House elves are powerful, but wizards can outlast them in the long run. But if a house elf has a wizard to draw from, they can keep going with the power all day, but only under orders from that wizard."

Dobby clapped his hands excitedly. "Harry Potter has it correct, sir!"

"But, if house elves are so powerful, why would they ever serve a wizard?"

Dobby's ears drooped as his excited face fell. "House elves are bred, sir. Doby is unsure how it all started, but there are no wild house elves known to Dobby. When a house elf is bred and raised, it is told over and over how a house elf's highest goal should be service, that only bad elves would not want a master, and that a masterless elf would die of madness without one. These are house elf... fairy tales? Does Dobby have that right?" Harry nodded, remembering Petunia reading Dudley such things before bed. "Once an elf is old enough, it is sold to a wizard's house, usually bound to the magics of the family; Dobby was bound to the Malfoy family magics, for example. The breeder does the binding, and the elf leaves with the buyer. A young elf with centuries of life will easily sell for ten thousand galleons, and is considered a good investment."

"Wait, centuries?"

"Oh yes, Harry Potter sir. Dobby is 271 years old, and has been a Malfoy elf since he was nine."

"Bloody hell," Harry breathed. "Two hundred years of that kind of treatment? That's insane!"

"No, sir misunderstands," Dobby interrupted, shaking his head. "Malfoy family was not always bad. Sir must remember that the British Malfoys as they be now came here just before French Revolution two hundred years ago. French Malfoys were cousins of the royal family; the french Malfoys are the true family heads, even if the bad Malfoys have left them behind. Original Malfoy came in and was friend and ally with Billy Conqueror."

"William the Conqueror," Harry absently corrected. "First Norman King of England."

"Just so, sir. Original Malfoy built the house, and current Malfoys bred in, but kept more true to the modern French Malfoy methods."

"But the original house magics are in France, right? What about the British house magics?"

"Dobby knows not, sir. Dobby only knows that he was born in France, and sold to a British Malfoy. British Malfoy bound Dobby to British family magics, answerable to whoever was head of the house."

"That's... Wow. You were born in..." Harry did a quick calculation. "1732? You must have seen a lot of things, Dobby."

"I suppose," Dobby replied, shrugging unconcernedly. "Dobby see what his masters let him see. But now that Dobby is free, Dobby can do so much more!"

"Absolutely, Dobby!" Harry laughed out, relieved that the discussion had gotten far more light-hearted. "So how about we get down to business?" Dobby nodded at that. "Tell me about the British properties."

"Dobby will start with this one. Village Manor is _special_ , sir. Dobby can feel the magic pooling, not all the wards have gone. It like... It like the magics be _waiting_ , sir. In addition, Dobby see places like this before. Village Manor is a kind of henge, sir."

"A what? Like Stonehenge?" Harry asked, completely confused.

"Come, Harry Potter sir. Dobby show you."

Dobby led Harry outside. Gesturing, he said, "There be outer ring, sir. Probably used to keep wolfies out and sheepses in. Along inner streets, buildings be acting like circle stones. Always will sun in morning and night hit the fountain. Dobby guesses that this place was ancient henge taken and made new by Potters in middle 1500s."

"How can you guess that?" Harry asked in awe.

"Dobby has seen books about suchlikes," he responded, shrugging. "But Harry Potter sir will be wanting someone more qualified than Dobby; Dobby is only guessing."

"I get you. And trust me Dobby, I _really_ appreciate this."

"That is it for village, sir. House over there, Dobby guesses was originally a square keep that wizards remade into house with magics. The roof needs replaced, but the walls be sound. Dobby did not brave the cellar doors; the stasis charms are repelling Dobby."

"So I'll have to do something about the stasis defense, got it. Any ideas?"

"If Harry Potter sir wielded the family magics, Dobby is sure that the wards would do as he asks," Dobby suggested.

"Something to consider," Harry replied. "I've heard of potential complications with that at my age."

Dobby shrugged. "Dobby only knows certain ways, and family magics being one near-certain way."

"Alright, I'll have to consider that part. What about the village proper?"

"Dobby suggest rebuild houses to original design. Use magics to recall shapes of houses, and hire dwarves to remake."

"Huh. Estimates, timetables, all to be determined," Harry commented, sitting on the edge of the fountain.

"Would Harry Potter sir like to visit the rest of his properties in Britain?"

"Tempting, but not just yet. I have to hit London and talk with Madam Bones about the trespasser, and then I Roth will be picking me up to get some new clothes. Tomorrow I will be talking with Roth about possibly going on his expedition, and Monday I'm wanting to hit up the Royal Society about my Mum's side of the family, and then find time to talk to my lawyer, the goblin running my accounts, and _still_ have all my stuff wrapped up within the next two weeks. That's about when Roth's expedition will take off if he gets the money for it."

"Dobby understands. While sir is out, Dobby will be getting other properties properly viewed and checked."

"When we're in Diagon... Wait." Harry stopped, a cog turning in his head. "What if we just got a... Can you use a camera, Dobby?"

"Dobby can, sir. Dobby would often take wizarding photographs of rival wizards greenhouses and businesses."

Harry blinked at that, temporarily shelving that particular thought that popped up. "Think you could use a muggle camera?"

"Possibly. What is Harry Potter sir thinking?"

"Well, there is a product out there called a 'disposable camera'. They're cheap, use no magic, and we can get them developed in the muggle world. Since you'd be taking pictures of buildings, we don't need them to be able to move, so they can be just photographs." Harry then stopped, saying, "Or we buy a Polaroid camera. You take the picture, and it spits it out in development. What do you think, Dobby?"

"Dobby would need practice to get good with new camera, but can try, yes."

"Fantastic. So while I'm out, you take the pictures, write down notes, and when we get together we can go over it all. Does that sound good?"

"It sounds _very_ good, Harry Potter sir! But sir, where would you get such a camera?"

"Harrods," Harry replied with a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did this chapter specifically to explain how house elves are slaves. The fanon explanation that an elf has to be bound to a wizard to survive doesn't really pass examination, so I came up with this. The Malfoy history was something that felt right to add in, and certainly adds a particular bit of interesting color to what little we know of the history of the Harry Potter setting.  
> Also, Dobby being 271 years old is entirely possible, given that Kreacher, according to canon, died some time after 2015 at the age of 666 years.  
> Lastly, I actually forgot about the necessary conversation between Lara and Roth. I had to write that in last. Shameful, I know.
> 
> Dobby is such a fun character to write. The little verbal oddities are entertaining.


	17. A Pensieve Report

Thanking whatever gods there were, Harry internally rejoiced when Dobby once again offered to pop him to the Ministry. He really disliked portkeys; he kept landing on his face. Making their way down, they finally got to the Auror bullpen. There was a great deal more rushing around, and everyone seemed a bit more brusque and professional.

Reaching the desk, he said, "Auror Tonks, still stuck at the desk?"

A _very_ tired Nymphadora Tonks looked up at him. "Yup. Lots of paperwork thanks to you, Harry."

"Oh, crap. Look, I _really_ didn't mean for anything to happen."

"Oh, I know that," Tonks replied. "Hell, we all knew that. Seriously, a squatter in a house? Usually an easy call. If I wasn't stuck on secretary duty, they would've sent me there. Probably would've been a better idea; my specialty is Transfiguration, after all."

"Well, so long as the aurors didn't get hurt..."

"Oh, there were a few injuries," she replied, and then, in the face of Harry's near-horrified expression, hurriedly said, "but they were pretty minor. Guy was trying to get away, not kill anyone, y'know? Nothing a couple of hours with a healer couldn't put right."

Harry exhaled a sigh of relief. "That makes me feel better. Anyways, Madam Bones sent me a letter wanting to meet with me about it."

"Got it. Have a seat, and I'll let her know."

A few minutes later. Ameia Bones stuck her head out of the door. Seeing Harry, she gestured for him to come inside. Harry did, and saw a tall man with a rough mane of graying, tawny hair getting to his feet.

"Mister Potter, this is Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour, Rufus, Harry Potter." The two shook hands, and everyone sat down.

"I see you got my letter," Amelia began without preamble. "The two aurors are now healthy, and will be returning to duty tomorrow. Relatively minor injuries were incurred, so not that substantial of an affair from that end.

"From the other end," she continued, pulling up a sheet of parchment, "we encountered a balding, portly man, a very ugly baby, and a massive snake that was bouncing spells off of it's scales."

"I had no idea," Harry admitted. "My house elf just told me that there was at least one wizard there, so I came here to ask someone to escort what I was guessing was a drunk off of my property. I mean, the place has apparently sat empty for a while, so that's what I figured it was."

"That matches up with what Flynn told me. I have a pair of pensieve recordings of the event from each of the aurors. Would you be willing to go through them with us?"

"I'd be happy to help, ma'am," Harry stated. Turning to Scrimgeour, he asked, "Have you seen the memories yet sir?"

"Not yet, Potter," Rufus commented. "Only Bones has seen them so far."

Amelia gestured to the pensieve, rather larger and more ornate than the one he'd used at Gringotts, and the three of them each dipped a finger into the swirling silver mass.

Almost instantly, Harry was in the front garden of an aging manor house. The hedges were rather unkempt, whereas the lawn was only slightly overgrown; Harry guessed it'd been a couple of weeks since it'd been mowed.

Ahead of the three were a pair in Auror red. Harry recognized Flynn. The two walked through an open gate, casting a spell. Two bits of red flared, one in the main house on the hill, the other in a small house just inside the gate. Flynn walked over to the little house, peering into the window. Harry could see an elderly man in a recliner listening to the radio while reading a newspaper. Another quick spell, and the elderly man nodded off.

"Person revealing spell, and then a sleeping spell," Rufus explained.

The two aurors walked up to the main house. Harry identified the unlocking spell (Standard Book of Spells, Year One!), and the pair entered the house. Harry could barely make out two voices, one quavering a bit, the other quite high pitched. Frowning, Harry held up a hand for Bones and Scrimgeour to stop. "I can just barely make out a soft voice calling for a mouse to slow down."

"I don't hear anything like that," Amelia admitted. "But we can go through it again to take a look."

The two aurors began climbing the stairs, tiny clouds of dust puffing up around their feet. Pausing at the door at the top of the stairs, the three viewers heard the high pitched voice say, "Wormtail, Nagini tells me we have visitors. Be a good host and let them in."

The door opened, and Harry shouted, "Pause! Ma'am, that is Peter Pettigrew!"

"Pettigrew is dead, Potter," Rufus ground out.

Harry walked forward, through the projection of the two aurors to look Pettigrew over. "A few weeks ago, he was at Hogwarts. He'd been masquerading as the pet rat of the Weasleys. He belonged to Percy, and then to Ron when Percy got an owl for making Prefect. _He_ is the reason Sirius Black broke out of prison. _He_ is the true betrayer of the Potters."

"Interesting accusation, Potter. Let's continue, shall we?"

The recording started again, and now Pettigrew dived towards a chair in front of a huge fireplace. "Aurors, master!" he shouted, snatching up a bundle out of the chair. Bones paused the action, striding over to Pettigrew.

"This is what he grabbed. Rufus, what do you think?"

Rufus walked over, taking in the dusty, long abandoned room as he passed. "I would say some manner of homonculus," he commented, taking in the red eyes and slitted nostrils.

"That was my thought as well. I'll have the Unspeakables take a look at this later."

Motion resumed, and Harry spun at the ugly baby's order to attack. Coming up the stairwell in a lunge at Durance was a massive snake. Over ten feet long, and thicker than his own thigh, he could see the fangs glistening with venom. Behing him, heard heard the sound of wood detonating, even as Durance knocked the snake back a few feet with a blasting hex. Flynn stepped up, and with a spellword the snake was thrown down the stairs, even as Durance was advancing into the room.

Clearly the memory was Durance's, as it followed him firing stunners at Pettigrew, who was batting them aside even as he turned, chanting something before diving out the window. Harry noted that the glass had broken into tiny cubes; he was thinking that Pettigrew had transfigured the plate glass into something safer to jump through.

Durance instantly followed, and the scene around the three blurred as the grounds materialized around them. Durance landed hard, still managing to roll into a guarded crouch even as he heard a shout of, " _ **Crucio!**_ ". He managed to roll to the side, tapping his badge as he called for backup.

Stretching into a lunge, he ran forward only to be slammed off his feet by an animated statue, a replica of Michaelangelo's David. Reflexively he blasted it into several pieces, before getting back up in time to dodge yet another animated statue, some sort of angelic figure wielding a sword. The statue was vicious, targeting the auror's wand hand and preventing him from getting a clear shot. Finally it landed a solid blow to his leg. Blood flowed freely even as Durance cast a levitation charm on it, followed by rolling out of it's sword reach. Even as it flailed about, several loud cracks could be heard as aurors apparated in, blasting statuary that was suddenly attacking them.

Flynn ran up, and began binding Durance's wounds as Bones ran up and asked for the report.

The memory ended, and Harry found himself back in Bones' office. Dropping heavily into a chair, he waited for the other two to take their own seats.

"Potter," Rufus began, "you seemed to know that Durance was about to be struck by the snake. How?"

"Parselmouth, sir," Harry replied heavily. "The ugly baby spoke to the snake in Parseltongue, ordered it to attack. I am guessing that the snake's name is Nagini."

"Parseltongue? I didn't hear anything," Bones admitted.

Harry groaned at that. "Hermione and I did a couple of experiments with it this past year. It seems that humans can barely make out the hissing unless the speaker is making an effort for volume. For a Parselmouth, however, the sound travels a lot farther, more distinctive."

"I see. I do remember you mentioning that you had that trait."

"Dumbledore claimed that Voldemort left a trace of ability in my scar, which is how I can speak Parseltongue."

"That's not a fun thought," Rufus commented. 

"So, the second memory?" Harry asked, reminding them of why he was there.

Amelia fished out the memory, dumping in another. The three went in, and Amelia forwarded the images to where the aurors were split up.

Harry had been impressed by Durance's movement, but Flynn has truly opened his eyes. Once the window had broken, he turned his full attention to the snake. He lunged over the banister, rolling to his feet even as the snake had lunged at where he was before slithering down the stairs to pursue the auror.

Instantly, the auror had his wand up and was chaining spells. A bone-breaker led to a stunner, which led to a blasting hex, which transitioned into a freezing charm. The entire spellchain was breathtakingly beautiful, and Harry watched in awe as the spells literally ricocheted off of the snake to hit the walls and ceiling as it pursued the auror.

"Pause," Harry called out. Turning to Amelia and Rufus, he said, "The snake keeps telling the auror to run. She doesn't seem to understand that he can't understand her."

"That's odd," Rufus mumbled.

"Well, the order from the ugly baby was to drive the aurors off. I'm guessing that she's basically buying Pettigrew time to run. And with this kind of spell resistance..." he tapered off, gesturing at the damaged walls.

"Stands to reason," Amelia commented.

The scene wrapped up with Flynn vaulting over Nagini's lunge, twirling in mid-air as he cast a spell at the floor ahead of her. Instantly the boards shrank, dropping her into darkness.

Flynn darted around the hole, running out the main door where Harry could hear spellfire going off. As the three were pulled along, he saw Flynn head around the corner of the house in time for Nagini to burst through a cellar door. She stopped, then slithered over to wind herself around Pettigrew, and they apparated away with a loud crack.

"Pause. Okay, the ugly baby shouted in Parseltoungue for Nagini to break off her attack and join them. She replied, 'Yes, my master', change track, and the three popped out."

The memory ended, and Harry once more found himself in the chair.

Amelia sighed, shaking her head. 'If only he weren't a minor, I'd offer all three of us a stiff drink,' she thought to herself ruefully. "So, what we have here is, apparently, Peter Pettigrew, a homunculous that can speak Parseltongue, and a massive snake that has been alchemically dosed to the point of near-invulnerability. What else do we know?"

"I had the local constabulary question the muggle," Rufus stated. "Frank Bryce, age 76. Served in the Second World War on the muggle side, served with distinction, discharged for medical reasons. He was a groundskeeper on the Riddle estate when all three died under mysterious circumstances in 1943. He was the only suspect, but there was no evidence of his taking any action. He stayed on as a groundskeeper, paid by the estate trust."

"Wait, Riddle?" Rufus nodded, and Harry said, "Crap. That makes sense, then. I got that house as well as some shack a mile up the road from my Right of Conquest. Tom Marvolo Riddle. The phrase 'I am Lord Voldemort' is an anagram of his name."

"What?" the pair demanded in unison.

Harry rubbed his temple for a moment. "I am guessing that this house belonged to Voldemort. That this was... Wait." Harry paused for a moment, before muttering, "Of course. His _muggle father's house!_ " Snapping his head up to meet Amelia's gaze, he continued, saying, "This had to be Voldemort's father's house. It explains why I got it through Conquest. 1943... That would've been after the Chamber of Secrets was opened for the first time. Mysterious deaths... Could it be possible that Voldemort went after the Riddles, killing them magically?"

"It could be," Rufus grudgingly admitted. "How do you know that You-Know-Who's name was Tom Marvolo Riddle?"

"Madame Bones has a box of my pensieve memories that I left with her yesterday. I'm pretty sure she hasn't had time to go through them yet."

"I had planned to go through some of them this weekend," Amelia admitted. "But this came up, and Rufus can only get so much paperwork done on his end."

"That's fair. Your people did fantastic work, sir," Harry said to Rufus. "I never knew that kind of active spellwork could be done!"

Rufus smiled a little at that praise. "Well, field spellwork is vastly different than tournament dueling. Being quick on your feet is just as vital as being quick with your wand."

There was a few minutes of small talk before Harry was shooed from the office. As it was Saturday, he wandered his way out of the mostly shut down Ministry, ending up back on the streets of Whitehall. Looking around, he marveled a tthe starkly lessened traffic even as he began walking towards Diagon Alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the short chapter. I'm working out the next one now; it just seemed inappropriate to have two wildly different story topics in one chapter.  
> Also, this chapter really didn't want to be written. I struggled like crazy with this until I got to the action part. Oddly, I can apparently write action sequences really well. Well, at least the folks on the Palladium Forums like it.
> 
> I want to thank everyone for the comments. They really do help me get the story bits addressed.


	18. The Shopping Trip

Finally at Charing Cross Road, Harry checked his watch. It was a little before ten in the morning, and breakfast was still sitting well in his stomach. Crossing the street, he stepped into a phone booth, dialing a number.

"Roth here."

"Roth, it's Harry Potter. Are we still on for today?"

"Oh, yes," came the sighing voice from the other end.

"Is there a problem, Roth?"

"Not as such. Not that has to do with you, lad. The engines on the Endurance are having issues, so I had to call in my mechanic on her day off. A day she had plans for."

"That doesn't sound good."

"It isn't. Reyes is right angry with me because this forced her to cut short time with her daughter."

"Ouch. That's not a lot of fun."

"Say, would you mind if I brought her along? I was going to go ahead and bring Lara and Sam along, but I figure Alisha wouldn't mind, you know?"

"And it might get Reyes' attention off your back and on the engines?" Harry asked with a smirking tone.

"Yeah, that. Would you mind?"

"Not really. Bring her along. You realize that we'll be outnumbered, right?"

Roth sighed at that. "This is nothing new, lad. Men and women are just like that. Where do you want to meet and when?"

"How about we meet at Harrods? I'm in Whitehall now, and I can take the tube there."

"Good, good. We can be there in about an hour. If someone would stop figuring out what bloody top to wear to a damn store!" he ended, clearly shouting at someone on the other end.

"Alright. It sounds like you have your own issues, so I'll meet you there about eleven."

Fifteen minutes and two subway stops later, Harry stepped out onto the streets of Knightsbridge. It was a fairly busy Saturday morning, with people going in and out of shops in the high end shopping district. Harry felt a little out of place in his (again) magically cleaned school shirt and slacks, but was determined to (finally) get this done.

Walking up and down the street, Harrods was instantly recognizable. Other stores called for his wandering eye along Brompton Road, such as Emporio Armani, Burberry, and Bang & Olufsen. Mentally calculating, Harry knew that he still had some muggle money, but two hundred pounds was not nearly enough for this kind of shopping expedition.

Walking into an alleyway (which was scrupulously clean), he made sure he was alone before calling for Dobby.

The excitable house elf faded into view next to Harry from where he'd been following. "Yes, Harry Potter sir?"

"Dobby, if you have my vault key, would you be able to withdraw some muggle money?"

"Dobby would need a note of permission, sir. With blood to verify."

Harry pulled out his little notebook and a pen, jotting out a permission before nicking the side of his thumb to place a smear of blood on the paper. Handing it to Dobby, he warned, "Whatever you do, don't touch the blood. It's extremely poisonous. And warn the teller that you hand it to."

"Dobby shall do. How would sir prefer Dobby return?"

"Umm... Crap, I don't know. Can you disguise yourself somehow? Because I don't trust my glamour charms."

"Dobby can," he nodded enthusiastically. "Bad master would often send Dobby shopping. Dobby would disguise himself as a midget when hitting Tesco's for bog roll."

Harry stared at that statement for a moment. There was something indescribably wrong, and yet entirely appropriate, about that entire statement. "Alright," he finally said. "How about you come back like you're coming out of the tube station and meet up with me where ever I'm at. Make yourself younger, like about my age? We'll say you're a friend from school who needs to get some shopping done too."

"Dobby can easily do that. How much should Dobby withdraw?"

"A few grand, I guess?" Harry said uncertainly, remembering the extremely high end stores, as well as Vernon's complaints about how all of Knightsbridge was too far out of their price ranges. "At the least, I need a few outfits and a camera with the film packs. Although I'll probably end up buying some extra stuff; I never had much, but I'll be wanting some odds and ends."

"As well as prezzies for your Weasy and Grangy?" Dobby asked shrewdly.

Harry laughed at the elf's insight. "Probably, yeah. Not sure what I'd get them, but I'm pretty sure something will catch my eye."

Dobby took the key, popping away as Harry walked out of the alley. Looking around, he decided to head over to Harrods anyways to wait for Roth.

Once actually inside the store, Harry openly stared at the space. Taking up the entire block ( _Five acres!_ ), having more than three hundred departments. Finally getting over his gaping, he spotted a floor map. And then stared even more. Seven floors of products. 'The _entire second floor_ is for women's clothing _?_ ' Harry thought to himself.

"Might I help you sir?" a slightly snooty voice asked from behind him.

Harry turned (keeping himself from snapping around in startlement) to see a well dressed, college age man standing there with his hands behind his back. "Sorry, it's my first time here, and I'm a little overwhelmed."

The man relaxed minutely, saying, "That's understandable, sir. May I ask what you're looking for?"

"Mostly a wardrobe, but I have some friends coming to help me out with that. Oh, and a Polaroid camera."

"When will your friends be arriving, sir?"

"About eleven."

"So we have time to get you to Five for your camera. This way, sir?"

Harry followed the stiffly formal young man to the elevator. Slowly the car ascended, showing each floor in all of it's grandeur.

"Sorry about the show downstairs, mate," the young man said, rolling his shoulders. "Wouldn't be wearing this monkey suit if I could afford college, yeah?"

"That's alright," Harry chuckled out. "I just want to get this done."

"S'fair, mate. I figure your school uniform is about the best you got, right?" Harry nodded at the accuracy. "Yeah well, Hogwarts stuff is about forty years out of date." Harry's eyes got wide at that, and the man said, "Relax, mate. I've a couple of cousins what's going there." Harry was even more confused at the distinctly East London accent that had begun to bleed through. "Colin and Dennis Creevy. Dennis will be there this year, and I remember Colin going shopping for his kit. Looked just like what you got on, mate."

"I guess it's a really small world," Harry mused aloud.

The man shrugged. "That's the way it is. I know who you are 'cos Colin won't shut up about ya. I also know that Colin says you're gold, so good enough for me."

"Colin's a good guy," Harry admitted. "A bit... _enthusiastic_ , but a good guy."

The man laughed at that. "He came home gushing at how you saved his ass, all embarrassed that he was bugging you too much with some kinda 'hero worship'. Good to see you don't take that too seriously, mate."

The elevator finally stopped (and had to be the slowest elevator Harry'd ever heard of), and the Cousin of Creevies (as Harry had dubbed the man in his head) led him over to a massive display of various cameras.

In the snooty voice once more, the man asked, "What are your needs, sir?"

"I need a couple of instant cameras for people who don't know anything about photography."

"Over here, then. Here are the current Polaroid Captiva. Fully automatic, with an automatic focus, color portrait cartridges, and glare reduction. Batteries are not required for the flash, as the portrait cartridges contain the them. Designed expressly for ease of use, sir."

"That sounds great. I'll take two, with twenty film packs."

"Any accessories, sir?" the Cousin of Creevies drawled out.

"...I have no idea what could be used with this."

"In all honesty sir, very little. The only appreciable accessory would be a tripod. If you were getting a _real_ camera," the man stated with just a hair of distaste, "then there would be lenses, tripods, and all manner of additional accessories."

"I don't think I'll need that, thanks," Harry replied nervously. "So, how much?"

"Each camera is sixty-eight pounds, the tripod thirty pounds, each film pack approximately five pounds... Plus VAT it all comes to 287 pounds and 28 pence, sir."

"Um. I'll have to wait for a bit. A friend of mine is on his way with the rest of my money."

"Understood, sir," he drawled out. "I'll gather the items while we wait for your... friend."

Harry peered around at the electronics. All of it was rather high-end; in fact, the Polaroid cameras were at the lowest end of the pricing scale. Peeking out of the section, he saw sections dedicated to video games, mobile phones, and stereo equipment.

"Huh," he muttered. "I'll have to poke around a bit later."

"Mister Harry, sir," a voice came from his right. Turning, he was what appeared to be a young Filius Flitwick, tastefully dressed in fitted slacks and shirt with a dark blue vest.

"Hey, Dobby. Any problems?"

"No, sir. Here is your stuff, sir."

Harry flipped through the wad of hundred pound notes, counting them quickly. Five thousand pounds, or two hundred galleons. Mentally noting that he really needed to get a portable accounts book to reign in his spending, Harry stuffed it in his pocket, saying, "Thanks, Dobby. Oh, and the guy helping us is a cousin of Colin Creevy's. He knows, but keep it quiet around muggles."

"Of course, Harry Potter sir. Dobby is most honored that you trust him so."

Ten minutes later, Harry was carrying a bag loaded with his cameras, and slowly wandering around, asking the Cousin of Creevies various questions.

"Our current 'big console' is the Super Nintendo, sir. However, the Panasonic 3DO will be coming out on Saturday, while the newest offer, the Sony Playstation, will be released sometime next year. Europe tends to be the last to receive them, sir."

"The Sixth Floor is primarily office space and the perfumery, sir. Unless you have a lady friend..."

"Fourth Floor deals extensively with child care goods and bespoke fashion, sir. You really don't want to be in there, mate," he ended with a soft mutter.

"Third Floor is furniture and housewares, sir." That caught Harry's attention, as he still had to decorate his house bag when he picked it up.

"Second Floor is Men's wear, sir. This will be the appropriate floor for your stated needs."

Harry blinked, staring around at the extensive selection. When he said nothing after a full minute, Dobby poked him in the leg, saying, "Perhaps sir would like help?"

"That would be an excellent notion, young sir," the Cousin of Creevies drawled. "If I may be... intrusive, what manner of even are you planning for?"

"Uhh... I will be meeting with the British Royal Society soon. Apart from that, not much. And I don't want to get too much; I'm almost fourteen, and I don't want to outgrow something pricey."

"Hmm. This way then, sir." Harry allowed himself to be led around towards the rough center of the floor. "Here, sir, is our general suit selection. For something like the Royal Society, I would recommend either a suit or upscale casual. That would be Armani or Boss, respectively."

"Umm, okay," Harry nervously replied, entirely blindsided by the selections and price tags. As a kid from the Surrey suburbs, never having had actual clothes of his own, the entire experience was overwhelming.

"Perhaps sir should wait," came Dobby's concerned voice from his waist. "Your lady friends would be better to select, yes?"

The Cousin of Creevies quirked at eyebrow at that. "Indeed, sir. Sometimes a feminine opinion is best in such events."

"There you are, Harry!" called a distinct North Yorkshire accent. Almost in relief, Harry turned to see Roth walking up with three women. Bizarrely, Harry could _feel_ Dobby fading from sight.

"Hello, Nigel," the brunette began, holding out her hand to the Cousin of Creevies. "How is the scholarship working out for you?"

"Quite well, Miss Croft," Nigel replied, shaking her hand. "A few minor expenses required I find employment, but nothing out of the ordinary. How have you been?" he asked with just a touch of interest in his voice.

"At a bit at a loss after my courses ended, but it's looking up," Lara replied. Then she turned. "Harry Potter, I presume?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied politely, shaking her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"Same here," she replied with an easy smile. "This is Sam Nishimura, and over there critiquing the Eton Collection is Alisha Reyes."

Handshakes were had all around, and Harry said, "I was hoping someone could help me pick out an outfit. I have no idea what to do."

Roth chortled at that. "Few do, lad. The doings at the Royal Society swing rather wildly. But for an initial presentation, semi-formal is the way to go. You're young, but want to be taken seriously. That means a full suit would be too much; they'd think you a pretentious, old money swot, and you'd come off as a fake like that, yeah?"

"Upscale casual, then," Nigel commented, turning. "That means the Hugo Boss section. Trendy enough to pull off in Society," Harry could _hear_ the capitalization there, "but casual enough to relax in. It's also light enough to wear in the summer, so one won't be swimming in it when you arrive."

Over the course of the next half hour, Harry was subjected to eight entire wardrobe changes. Sam had taken charge of things, and was running him through his paces like an experienced fashion runway manager.

Meanwhile, sitting amusedly, Lara mildly asked, "You look interested. Anything in particular catching your eye?"

Alisha blushed at that. "He's cute. And shy. He seems sweet, and knows how to object just enough to push Sam properly."

Lara giggled at that admission. "I don't think that last one's an act. He seems completely gobsmacked at all of this, and Sam has him overwhelmed. At this point, I think he's operating purely on 'Yes, Ma'am', you know?"

"Oh, yeah," Alisha admitted, sighing slightly. "He's too thin, but he's really cute. Makes me wonder if I need a boyfriend, and if mom would kill him even while he's still completely confused about what happened."

"I could completely see that," Lara commented, smiling as Sam handed Harry another Boss outfit. "I could totally see Harry being told that he's your boyfriend, your Mum trying to threaten him, and him being all, 'I have no idea what just happened.' Although you might want to get to know him a little better before putting him through all that."

Alisha giggled at that. "Uncle Roth says he's only a couple of months younger than me, so that's not bad. And I have all afternoon to chat with him, right? Sounds like a good start to me."

"There is that, yeah. How much do you know?"

"Not much. Family friend or something. Uncle Roth is helping him out. He didn't say more than that. Well, and that he was bringing me along to get mom to keep from strangling him with a hydraulic line again."

"Ah. Yeah, Reyes is like that. Oh, it looks like the show is over," Lara said as Harry was refusing to model more, insisting that Sam pick two and be done with it. She did, and Nigel bundled up the two outfits.

Looking only a little frazzled, Harry sat easily on the bench next to Alisha. "That was only mildly unpleasant."

"Only mildly?" Alisha asked, completely bemused at his minimal complaint."

"Yup. My friend Hermione is _much_ worse. Sam was barely forceful, just a bit bossy. Hermione is full-on forceful, and confrontational about it."

"What does she get forceful about?" Lara asked in confused curiosity.

"Getting homework done early, reading ahead, not wasting time or really relaxing," Harry admitted, rolling his shoulders a little; one of the outfits had been quite limiting on his shoulder movement. "She means well, just comes off as... I'm going to stick with intensively focused."

"Girl sounds like she needs a hobby," Alisha dryly stated.

"Probably. Her idea of 'light reading' was a book almost a foot thick. That was in First Year. We're about to hit Fourth Year, and I'm sure that her new version of light reading will be the school charter, or something."

"She sounds dedicated. And problematic," Lara said.

Harry just shrugged at that. "Hermione is Hermione. She'll be true to herself, and woe to anyone who keeps her from her precious books. Seriously, she'd be our school's Gollum, but replace books with the ring."

"What about you, Harry? What do you do for fun?" Alisha asked, barely keeping the eagerness out of her voice.

Alisha didn't catch it, but Lara did. The slight guardedness, the sudden shift of thought that affected his tone of voice. "Well, I do like my studies. The school I go to teaches a few odd things, and they're really interesting. I'm on my dorm house's... football team, and that's a lot of fun. Some chess, listening to the radio. I can't cook at school, which isn't fun, but at least I can study and hang out with my friends when it's quiet and nothing weird's happening."

Lara said nothing, remembering Roth's words from the night before. ' _Non-magicals who find out tend to get their memories of magic modified so that an international panic doesn't break out._ ' Clearly Harry was trying hard to be social, and merely altering the facts just enough to fit the non-magical environment.

"What kind of weird things could happen at a boarding school?" Alisha asked.

Harry paused for a moment before saying, "Do you remember the prison breakout last year? Huge, nation-wide manhunt for Sirius Black?" They both nodded; Lara had just graduated, and while Alisha mostly lived in the United States, it had made international news. "Turns out he was headed to my school. Everyone thought he was coming for me, when he was actually going after... one of the staff who was under a different name."

"Wow. What happened?" Alisha asked intently.

"Turned out he's my godfather, and that staff member was the one who killed all those people. Sirius spotted him in a newspaper, and broke out of prison to go after him."

"So if he didn't do it, then why did... I mean..."

Harry smiled sadly at Alisha's attempt at a question. "When he was sent to prison, a lot of bad stuff was happening. I think it's all connected to what came after The Troubles. Anyways, the courts jailed him for... collusion? I think that's the word, not sure, as well as a dozen counts of murder.

"A couple of weeks ago, Hermione, Ron, and I finally got the whole story. The real criminal got away, my godfather got arrested, and nobody wanted to listen to a thirteen year old and two fourteen year olds. Sirius managed to escape again, and now he's on the run."

"That's crazy," Lara muttered, wondering what the real story of that was. After what Roth had told her the night before, she was looking forward to questioning Harry about this 'secret society'.

"Mm-hmm," Harry agreed, leaning against the wall. "Anyways, that's not today. Today is meeting people, shopping, and relaxing. After this past week, I've been needing to actually be able to relax."

"Since we got your outfits, how about lunch?" Alisha asked. Harry didn't catch the slyness, but Lara certainly did, with considerable amusement. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize about the delay, folks. Work and such take it out of a person, and as it turns out, I am terrible at getting a flow going with slice-of-life material. Anger, action, those flow really well for me. A shopping trip? I kind of stumbled. Hard.
> 
> At any rate, I'm posting two chapters today. I hope everyone enjoys them.  
> And as always, comments and criticisms are always welcome.


	19. Chatting and Dining

Roth sighed. Two men versus three women wasn't fair, especially when the women in question tended to band together. Lara and Alisha being thick as thieves certainly didn't help matters, while Lara and Sam being perfectly matched best friends was merely aggravating the running commentary. Sam and Alisha weren't terribly familiar with each other, but they were getting along well enough to be adding to each others' comments.

'Probably a female hive mind thing,' he thought, sipping his Coke. Harry sat between Sam and Alisha, eating his sushi (Roth was buying) as the two girls tried to teach him how to use chopsticks.

"Lara," he said softly, smiling at the three on the other side of the table laughing, joking, and making light fun of themselves and each other, "what do you think of him?"

"He seems nice," Lara replied guardedly. "Now that I know about... that thing, I can see where the gaps in the story are about his school. Terribly shy, but still welcoming. Also, he's too thin."

"Aye, that he is. I plan to try to talk with him alone after lunch. Now that his suits are bought, I can phone the Society and get that set up. I'm not sure what Lily had in mind, but it's bound to be interesting. Anything else?"

Lara smirked at that. "Reyes is going to seriously glare at you. Look at her; Alisha has a bit of a crush."

Roth sighed heavily, shaking his head as he popped another bit of rice in his mouth.

"At any rate, I _would_ like to get to know him a little better," Lara continued. "If Lily Evans wanted him with you, there had to have been a good reason."

"True. I'll have find out what law firm he uses. With that, I can work together with them about adjusting the custody thanks to the Potter will. I also know that Harry has a ton of stuff to deal with before he leaves. I'll talk to him about who to attack what in case he gets confused."

"That sounds fine. I'll talk to Sam; she'll at least want to do a little window shopping, and Alisha can just get dragged along while you men talk about manly things," Lara replied with a smirk at Roth's dark chuckle.

Twenty minutes later, the three women were in Bang and Olufsen, Sam to look at the latest in video cameras, the other two caught up in her orbit. Outside sat Roth and Harry, sitting on a bench under a tree.

"So Harry," Roth began, lighting a cigarette, "now you've met Lara, Sam, and Alisha. You alright?"

Harry smiled back at him. "I'm okay. Alisha seems really nice, and Sam is kind of bossy and intense, but it's nothing I haven't managed before. Lara seems pretty nice too. I take it you told her about..."

"Oh yes," Roth admitted. "Her being from that sort of family allows me to tell her, and her own status as landed gentry protects her from a lot of unpleasantness.

"Lara is interested in getting to know you better, and your point was well made. To get to know us, you need to come with us. So yes, I'd like to take you up on your offer, Harry. Have you talked with anyone about that?"

"My... I guess account manager?" Harry stated querulously. "I _think_ he's running my accounts, but normally he's an auditor. He's definitely running my investments."

"Fair, fair," Roth admitted, flicking ash off the cigarette. "Means it'll be impossible to rip you off. What did he have to say?"

Harry's eyes defocused for a moment before he said, "Thirty percent of all profits, Right of First Refusal of artifacts, and all... _special_ items go exclusively to me. That's for an investment of roughly four-fifty."

Roth inhaled sharply at that. With that kind of money, plus Whitman's two hundred grand, the Endurance could be properly repaired (pleasing Reyes and Alex to no end), the expedition equipment could be updated (shutting Whitman the hell up), the helm could be updated (forcing Grim to glare at him less), everyone would be properly paid, and the whole expedition would be decently insured.

Roth internally shuddered at the memory of an uninsured expedition gone very, very bad. Heart of the Congo, a team looking for King Solomon's west-most citadel that supposedly had been built at the mouth of a blue diamond mine. He still had bad dreams of cannibal pygmies riding gorillas. And then, after all that, the company funding it all cut their losses on the entire mess, leaving the remnants of the team hanging out to dry.

"Whitman would jump at that. But then, he's desperate to get his fame back," Roth admitted, crushing out the cigarette under his heel before tossing it into a trash can. "This deal is far better than I could've hoped for. Granted, that bank's offer would've included personnel, but for an exploratory expedition, the crew we have will do fine. What about you, lad? I doubt you'll simply be 'along for the ride'."

"I'm not sure yet. I'll probably fill up a trunk with books so I can study at my own pace. After all," Harry admitted ruefully, "my learning won't get sidetracked by having to write a two foot long essay on the history of something. Maybe I'll actually get somewhere in my studies rather than being forced to keep pace with everyone else."

"Good, good. Anything else you might want to get done while we're out there?"

Harry shrugged at that. "I'm too used to being active during the summer, so whatever comes up. I'll learn whatever I can to pull my weight, you know?"

"Lad," Roth laughed out, "you're _already_ pulling your weight by investing! Honestly, with more than twice the buy-in of Whitman, your voice is the final authority in all this. Whitman can't refuse, but that doesn't mean he'll like it." At Harry's concerned expression, Roth continued with, "And as ship's captain, I can enforce all that. Don't worry, Harry. Let me deal with Whitman. Just keep up as best you can."

"I don't want to cause any problems," Harry mumbled, looking blankly across the street.

"Oh, there'll be _plenty_ of problems, lad," Roth admitted, resting his elbows on his knees. "But you let me deal with that, yeah? That's my job, so let me sort it."

"Alright, I can do that," Harry breathed out, forcing himself to relax. "So, the Royal Society. How should we do that?"

"That'll actually be the easy part of all this. Since I'm well known there, I'll make the appointment in your name. You can easily get there on the tube from Charing Cross, since Burlington House is just off Picadilly Circus. I guess I'll pay for a post owl to contact you.

"From there, your birth records as well as my own evidence should be enough to start the process. They'll want a blood sample, as they'll have Dicky Evans' DNA on record; they've been doing that since the 1960s. Give them a week, and they'll have the confirmation. By then the paperwork'll have been finished, and you can start opening up the Evans properties and such. The title will have to be done in a formal presentation, but that won't be until after we get back from the expedition.

"Also, I'll need to talk with your law firm. With their help, I can deal with Petunia, get the rightful legal custody of you in tune with the will."

Harry's eyes widened at that admission. "Seriously?"

"Aye lad," Roth confirmed with a smile. "It'll be necessary to be able to legally bring you along on this trip. And it'll have the added benefit of making the process at the Society that much smoother."

"Okay. My firm is Dewey, Skruham, and Howe, Number 12 Knockturne Alley. My lawyer is Laura Langley."

"Langley? Damn, Harry! You don't muck about, do you?" Roth asked, awe lacing his voice.

"What do you mean?"

Roth laughed at that. "Oh, lad. Laura Langley is an absolutely cut-throat, iron-clad bitch in heels. When she takes on a client, she has a reputation of savaging anything that might threaten that person. She takes special joy in legally ruining the lives of self-important people who look down at her for being a top-heavy blonde.

"There's an American archaeologist named Ramirez that had retained her. A sponsor wanted to back out of a contract on a dig, trying to sue to get out of the penalty clauses. They brought up the records of violence on his digs, the fact that his mother had been an illegal immigrant, and so on. Langley dug her heels in and hunted down every bit of dirt on that sponsor that was out there. Every transaction, every under-the-table deal, every 'campaign contribution' to a politician. A month later she had all of it exposed to the public eye, and Ramirez bought them out for pennies on the dollar.

"Add into that her own sponsor, Duke Langley, and you have an unstoppable legal juggernaut ready to bulldoze whatever and whoever it takes to get justice."

"So... I did good?"

"Aye, lad. You did very good," Roth confirmed, finally feeling like Harry wasn't simply jumping at the first vague oppurtunity that had presented itself. "But for now, we'll enjoy the day. On Monday I'll call the Society, and then hit the bank about the expedition. What will you be doing?"

"Well, tomorrow is Sunday, so Dobby and I will be going over the Potter stuff. I'll also be writing several letters to people to get stuff set up for when I'm away. After that, probably meeting with people about that stuff in the letters, maybe visiting with my friends a little."

"Sounds good," Roth commented, smiling. "Once the contract is signed and the monies set, the Endurance should be ready to set sail within a couple of weeks. Three at most. I'll have Lara make a list of books for you to prepare you for the expedition, and you'll want to get your own shopping done. And if you can talk to one of the field... people at the bank, ask them about what sort of gear you'll need for the tropics."

"I can do that," Harry stated in a relieved tone. "It feels good to have a plan."

"It generally does, lad. And look, there are the girls. Let's get moving; they've got bags, so we're pack mules."

Twenty minutes later (and a warm hug from Alisha), Harry found himself once more solo. Checking the time, he noted with it was just after two, and he was exhausted. Dobby popped him back to the Village Manor from an alley, and Harry hung up the two suits he'd bought.

"Any problems, Dobby?"

"No, Harry Potter sir. Dobby was easily able to pop between Britain homes. France house will take a little doing to get to."

"That's fine, Dobby," Harry replied, sitting down at the kitchen table. "We expected that, and there really isn't much point in rushing around."

"Sir, is it true? That you'll be leaving Britain for sciencey trip?"

"It looks like it. Roth will talk to Slipshard on Monday about the investment."

"Dobby sees. Shall sir see his stuff?"

"Go for it, Dobby."

"First is Village Manor. Most preserve charms have faded, except for the No-Muggle and pavement preserve. The henge itself is held up by fountain pillar, and has wards for wild animals and enemies. They are at low power, but full charge seems to be there. The house is messed up, but Harry Potter sir will likely need the Headship to open it. Dobby also recommends Aurors and healers, in case people are stuck inside.

"Next is Blackpool townhouse," Dobby continued, laying down several photographs. "It is on the block opposing to the South Pier; a _very_ good area of town, sir. So far as Dobby can tell, only repelling wards and basic stasis charm are applied. Sir should be able to open with little trouble.

"Last is the Bay of Skaill," Dobby stated with a sigh, laying down more pictures. "It also the most difficulty one, sir. Most of the house is underground. Dobby did a little looking at the muggle pamphlets, sir, and Dobby believes that the Potter property was originally a remote part of the first settlement from five thousand years ago. It is also the most heavily warded."

Laying out more polaroids, Dobby gestured at several points. "Here, here, and here, sir. These all be ward stones. This be _old_ magics, sir. Anti- _everything_ wards, sir. If not for Ministry paperwork, Dobby would not have found it.

"Dobby senses, and guesses, that this is where Harry Potter sir must go for headship. Feels like Seat of Power, sir."

Harry sighed at that. Rolling it all over in his head, he asked, "Dobby, you've seen a number of Malfoys become heads over the years..."

Harry stopped at Dobby's giggle. "Dobby is sorry sir. But Dobby does remember several Malfoys becoming heads during Revolution."

"Okay, that is funny," Harry laughed out. "Anyways, did any of the Maloys need recovery time after becoming head of the family?"

"Yes, sir. Dobby has seen it many times. Usually about a month to... adjust to the new magics."

"Damn. I'll have to wait on that until after I'm back. Then again, with what Neville told me, I might want to wait regardless."

"Dobby also have pamphlets."

Harry took the proffered sheets, spreading them out on the table. "Skara Brae," he mumbled. "Heart of Neolithic Orkney, managed by Historic Environment Scotland. Estimated to have been built in 3180 BC, occupied for six centuries." Looking up at Dobby, he commented, "At least we have something historical to look forward to, huh?"

"Indeed we do, sir," Dobby returned with a grin.

"And at the very least, I can pick Lara and Whitman's brains about where to read up on that area. Maybe I'll be able to get in a little studying done before I get stupid and just go in."

"Dobby believes that to be best option, sir."

"This is great work, Dobby. Looks like Blackpool should be okay to check out, and we'll tackle Orkney later. I'm thinking next summer, after school. But for now, until you can make your way to France, I suppose your attention should be here, on the village."

"Dobby understands, sir. What does sir wish for his village?"

"I'm thinking basic reconstruction. Like you said earlier, we should keep the base footprint the same to preserve the henge and fountain. Once you get people in here to do a proper checking to see what all needs to be done, I'm leaning towards just basic rebuilding. Refit the design a little for plumbing and wiring, standard amenities. That's about it, really."

"Dobby sees where sir is going with this," he replied, jotting notes down. "Dobby will talk to other house elves, find out who does that manner of a thing."

"Sounds good. Monday I'm wanting to head to Gringotts, get a fund set up for all that. If you're going to be getting that done while I'm out of the country, you'll need the money for it."

"May Dobby also recommend sir speak with goblins about giant snake?"

"Good call. If it's worth a bunch of money, that'll give us a lot of wiggle room. And if all else fails, I'll just dump most of it into the investments fund. That'll make Slipshard happy."

"And happy goblins are being ruthless goblins."

"Exactly. Anything else, Dobby?"

"Umm... Dobby hates to be a bother, Harry Potter sir...", Dobby began nervously.

"What is it?" Harry asked evenly.

"Dobby is wondering about... his pay, sir."

Harry blinked at that. "Ohhh. Alright, yeah we _did_ kind of get caught up with stuff, didn't we? I'm not sure what an estate manager makes, but I'm positive that it's more than twenty-five thousand pounds a year. That'd make it out to more than a thousand galleons a year, Dobby," Harry explained to a confused elf.

"Oh, no, Harry Potter sir!" Dobby exclaimed, shaking his head vigorously. "Dobby could _never_ take so much money for work!"

"Listen, Dobby," Harry sighed out, resting his elbows on the table, "basically I'll be paying you to supervise _everything_ on my properties. Now that we know that only the village needs a ton of work, that eases the initial effort off of you by a lot. However, we don't know anything about the Evans stuff, and that'll all be under my list of properties. Since they're non-magical, you'd need to hire regular workmen to get anything done.

"And even when everything is in running order," Harry continued, "there'll need to be staff running things. I still don't know what all the Village Manor property entails, since the tax forms mentioned house elves, crops, and livestock. Plus you'll be running to and from the Ministry for permissions to get things done. Permits and the like. I remember Vernon having to get a permit to set up the garden shed, and that took him weeks.

"It's that sort of thing that I'm hiring you for, Dobby," Harry stated reassuringly. "Given what all you were doing at Malfoy's house, you know exactly what all needs to be done for this sort of work. Plus, being a free elf means you'll need your own food, and whatever hobbies you want to do on your time off. All that takes money."

"Dobby understands, sir," he replied, slowly nodding. "However, Dobby will not be accepting more than two hundred galleons a year. That is final, sir."

"And a house."

Dobby blinked at that. "A house, sir?"

"Of course," Harry replied as if it were obvious. "You'll need a place to stay, as well as an office space for all the paperwork, right? So pick a plot, and have whoever is rebuilding our stuff make that house first. But until that's done, you can stay with me until I leave, or the house in Blackpool. Actually, now that I think of it, you'd probably be best in Blackpool," Harry corrected himself musingly. "After all, putting the paperwork in an already standing building would be best. And we wouldn't have to move it when I leave. So, what do you oof!"

Harry rocked under the impact of Dobby throwing himself at him, all while gabbling how 'Harry Potter is the bestest, kindest wizard in the world' sort of thing.

Eventually, Dobby got control over himself and managed to sit back down.

"How about tomorrow you and I hit Blackpool," Harry recommended. "At the very least get a good look at the place. After that maybe visit Neville, generally relax for some of the day. I have some letters to write, so I'll do that tomorrow afternoon. Sound good?"

"It does, sir. Also, Dobby be cooking tonight. Dobby has found a lovely sea bass, and will be salt-baking that with vegetables."  
********  
On the deck of the Endurance, Conrad Roth was rolling things around in his head while waiting on the diva to show his face.

"Roth! Lara said you wanted to see me?"

"Over here, Whitman," Roth stated, internally twitching at the man's bad dye-job and double-dealing manners. "Long story short, I found an investor."

"Really?" Whitman asked excitedly. "Who is it?"

"Harry Potter. He's the grandson of old Dicky Evans."

Whitman gasped at that. "You mean we're actually getting funding from the Evans Foundation?"

"Heh. No, Potter's putting his own money into this."

"That... can complicate matters," Whitman commented, frowning. "What does he get out of it?"

"Thirty percent off the top, Right of First Refusal for artifacts. At least that's how he pitched it to me. Monday I'll talk to his investments manager."

"And how much is he putting up?" Whitman asked warily.

"Four-fifty."

Whitman whistled at that. "Hell of a chunk of change. Why would he do that?"

"Several reasons," Roth stated, turning to look over the sea. "First, turns out I was in his mum's will to raise him, much like Dicky Croft made me Lara's legal guardian growing up. The will was only recently brought up; the original law firm that was to execute it got wiped out two weeks before his parents were, by the same terrorists."

"Ouch. That's a lot of horrible all at once."

"About what I thought. Anyways, I figured the least I could do was help him out. Introduce him to the Royal Society, all that. 

"The other reason is that his investment manager was on the haggling team that Grim and I met with a few days ago. The manager felt that the expedition was a solid investment, but there was no way you were going to go in for seventy percent off the top."

"Of course not!" Whitman exclaimed. "That's extortion!"

"Of course it is," Roth commented sarcastically. "Especially when the money comes with a half-dozen historical specialists.

"Anyways, the catch, as I'm dead certain you're wanting to ask, is that he come with. He wants to get out of Britain for a bit, see some of the world, maybe learn some new things."

"That seems pretty reasonable," Whitman admitted. "How far into his degree is he?"

Roth turned to face Whitman directly. "He isn't. The lad's thirteen, fourteen late next month."

" _Thirteen?!_ Are you insane, Roth? A thirteen year old can't sign a contract!"

"No, but his investment manager can."

"And how does a thirteen year old have _four hundred and fifty thousand pounds_ to spare?"

"That's not a question you should be asking, Whitman," Roth said warningly.

"And what exactly is the question I should be asking?" Whitman demanded, crossing his arms.

"The question you should be asking is, 'How can we do this without him?'"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Here's the second chapter. Hopefully I'll be able to hit time skips soon. Of course, that also means I'll have to properly block the time, so...  
> At any rate, please enjoy!


	20. Blackpool, Vacation Town!

June 12, 1994

Rising with the dawn, Harry once more began his morning rituals. Wash face, start tea, shuffle around the tent a bit. He was happy he no longer had to share space with four other teen boys, and no longer having to put up silencing charms because of snoring was a big bonus.

Shortly after he had his first cup of tea, he sat down and wrote a letter to Neville that he'd be in Blackpool that morning. Then he wrote another letter to his law firm, being the list of odds and ends that he'd made the day before. Yet another letter was to Slipshard letting him know that Roth would be coming by on Monday about the investment, and Harry himself wanting to arrange a meeting to do something about the basilisk, as well as a few other items of note. The last letter was to Bill Weasley, inviting him to the Village Manor to sit down and talk about some things.

As Hedwig took wing, Harry finally cooked breakfast. Looking at his calendar, he properly realized that he had a lot of stuff to get moving before the Endurance left port. He had understood it previously as a rather vague set of ideas, but with a proper timetable, the point had really been brought home.

"Good morning, Harry Potter sir."

"Morning Dobby," Harry commented at the shambling elf. It seemed that Dobby shared Harry's morning lethargy. "I got some vegetables stir-fried for breakfast. Also a pot of tea."

"Dobby swears he needs to get Harry Potter sir onto coffee," Dobby grumbled, plopping himself down at the table. "British do not know what they be missing. Tea is being for afternoons, not breakfasts."

Harry blinked at that, then remembered that Dobby originally was a _French_ elf. "I'll grab some when we hit Blackpool, Dobby."

"Be good idea, sir," Dobby groused, sipping at his tea. "Coffee traditional for long journeys. Dobby remembers that naval tradition calls for coffee over tea. Or at least it _should_ ," he snarled out, viciously stabbing at a slice of tomato.

'I never knew that a house elf could be a coffee snob,' Harry thought to himself, easing away slowly.

Twenty minutes later, Harry was standing Just outside of the main entrance of the South Pier. Deeply inhaling, he reveled in the scent of the ocean, even as the mixed music of of an arcade tempted him to skive off of his duties. Shaking his head, he let Dobby (now looking much like he had at Harrods) lead him by the hand across the street. Half a block down, Dobby pointed at a building that blended in perfectly with the rest of the block's architecture. Three stories, done up in the older Victorian-period design, the house had quite a few windows and several chimneys.

Gathering himself, Harry strode up stairs to the door. Some perverse urge swelled in him, and he rang the antique doorbell.

And then he snatched his finger away, looking at the drop of blood on his fingertip.

"Hey, Dobby? Were the Potters known for paranoia?"

"Dobby doesn't think so, sir. Why?"

"Because something in the doorbell jabbed my finger. I was wondering if I should be worried about poisons. Or just tetanus."

"Dobby believes that sir was blood tested," the (seemingly) midget answered. "Most likely a require for the house to know a Potter has returned."

"I hope so."

Within another two seconds, the pair heard muffled clunks coming from the door, which then cracked open slightly. Opening the door fully, Harry stepped inside to see a hardwood entryway. To the left was an alcove with cloaks on hooks.

"Sir should allow Dobby to examine, please. Sir doesn't know how to look for things yet."

"Good call, Dobby," Harry admitted, feeling like he had just broken into someone else's house.

Harry watched as Dobby unleashed what seemed to be a pulse of energy, limning the interior into a glowing, skeletal framework encompassing all three floors. Several spots lit up throughout the structure, some in green, others in blue, and a few in a deep crimson.

"Dobby sees now. Green spots are enchanted items, blue be rune stones, red are spots needing repairs."

"Wicked," Harry breathed, looking around at the now 3D map surrounding him. It seemed that no expansion charms had been used, as the interior (so far as he could tell) fairly well matched the dimensions of the interior. "So where to first?"

"Dobby suggests Harry Potter sir go to top floor. Many green spots there, Dobby is guessing office. While sir does that, Dobby will check the runes and make notes."

Making his way up the stairs, he peeked around. The house was done up in blonde woods and coppery trims, while the ceiling was apparently hammered metal polished to a high gloss, and patterned in odd designs. On the second floor, visible from the stairwell, was a long hallway and a sitting room appointed in a mix of Victorian and 1950s Futuristic style furniture.

The third floor had a long hallway running the the central beam of the house, with doors on either side. Tracking from memory, he found the room Dobby had recommended. 

Inside was a massive office, easily three times the size of the Dursley's living room. A truly massive desk of some hardwood was on one end, three walls covered in bookshelves and ancient filing cabinets, while the entire wall across from the door was curtained. Scattered throughout the room were various chairs and coffee tables.

Harry did note as he crossed to the desk that the room was scrupulously clean, as if the place hadn't been empty for more than a decade; he mentally noted that the stasis charm might have done for that. Looking over the desk, he saw that several files were on the table, none dated later than August 7, 1979.

Rifling through the drawers, he managed to unearth several fountain pens, a quill care set, ancient, dried inkwells that looked similar to teapots, and many, many versions of paperclips, pencils, scissors, and ancient Royal Post stamps.

Finally he hit the large filing drawer. Noting that it was locked, he searched in vain for the keys before sighing and grabbing a rather thick letter opener. That, according to the handle, was once a bayonet. Kneeling, he wedged the blade in between the crack of the drawer and began to 'feel' around for the catch.

"I wouldn't do that were I you, young man," a voice spoke up from behind him.

Turning, Harry saw a small bust with glowing blue eyes on a low shelf behind the desk. He had missed it due to the other bric-a-brac cluttering the stack of shelves.

"Okay, and?"

The bust shifted slightly, saying, "Only the Potter family head may open that drawer."

"What about the _last_ Potter?"

The glowing eyes seemed to blink twice at that. "How do you mean, young one?"

"First, tell me who you are," Harry lightly demanded, sitting in the ancient swivel chair.

"I was Nabil, the third daughter of Abu Bakr ibn Umar ibn Ibrahim ibn Turgut, founder of what is now called Marrakesh."

"That... is one hell of a lineage," Harry admitted, watching as the bust adjusted slightly, now appearing as a fine-featured African woman. "How did your bust make it to the Potter family?"

"I was sold in marriage to Odart of Poter, a man originally from the northern continent, in exchange for reliable access to that family's Western influence on what was known in those days as the Path of Jade, and in later centuries to the non-Enlightened as the Silk Road during the Byzantine period. My bust was made in what you would recognize as the year 1122, and when I passed in 1124, my entire essence was passed into this bust."

"Wow. I've never heard of such a thing. Then again, I just finished my third year of schooling."

The glowing eyes seemed to narrow at him. "You have not been trained since your first steps? You seem _far_ too old for such base tutelage."

"Ah. Well," Harry replied nervously to what appeared to be the spirit of an ancient ancestor, "I wasn't raised as a Potter. I was raised by my mother's non-magical relatives when my parents died. I was fifteen months old at the time."

"How unusual," Nabil mused aloud. "And there are no others of the Poter line?"

"Not that I know of," Harry said, shrugging.

"Well, _that_ certainly makes matters clear," Nabil snarked out. "How long has the house been silenced?"

"Silen... Oh, you mean under stasis. I am guessing from the paperwork, about fifteen years."

"Hm. So Fleamont and Euphemia have been gone for some time. How did they pass?"

"I was told dragonpox."

The glowing eyes seemed to roll. "By the Prophet, have they forgotten the treatments? How much has been lost over the centuries?" she snarled.

Shrugging, Harry replied, "Two massive wizarding wars in fifty years pretty much gutted society. I'm betting ancient libraries are hidden away under heavy wards, just waiting for an unknown descendant to claim them. Well, if they even can figure out _how_ to claim them."

"Heathens," Nabil muttered darkly.

"Back to the topic," Harry interrupted, "Since I'm the last Potter, and was raised... _improperly_ ," he stated, trying to mollify the statue of a distant ancestor, "I am now working to get all of the Potter stuff together so that I can figure out what to do with it all."

"Sensible," Nabil nodded out. "What is your current step?"

"Taking proper accounting of this house," Harry responded. "I have a friend of mine looking at all of the properties, seeing what needs to be done with each. So far, only one needs rebuilding. As for this house, I needed to be here to see for myself what I need to get done."

"Excellently done, young man. Your name?"

"Oh, sorry. Harry Potter, son of James Potter and Lily Evans."

"Hmmm. I do recall James. Troublesome, excitable child. I do not recall this Lily, but I remember James pining over a girl with hair of the Umayyads. Red hair," she explained to Harry's confusion. "And since the house silence was lifted by you, then you _are_ a Poter, at the very least. And if you truly are the last, then this place is yours by right."

"Thank you... I hate to ask, but how should I address you?" Harry asked shyly. "Just calling you by your name seems... rude and informal."

Her laughter joyously tinkled out at she said, "Call me Nabil. As the last Poter, I belong as much to you as I did to Odart. At least you have better manners than he did."

"I'll have to ask you about that later," Harry murmured. "So, about this drawer..."

"Ah, that's right. You were looking to open it. Please lift me and look at my base."

Harry lifted the small (shorter than the length of his hand!) bust up, and sure enough there was a key set into a groove in the base. Pulling it out, he gently set down the bust, comment, "I hope it didn't hurt when that groove was cut in there."

"Oh, it did not," Nabil replied, smiling at Harry's concern for her. "This bust was designed for holding that key. That lock and key set, in it's varying configurations, have been in the family longer than I have. I am merely the keeper. Were you not the last Poter, you wouldn't have been able to remove it."

"Huh. Useful."

Harry unlocked the drawer after placing the (razor sharp) letter opener back into it's sheath. Opening it, he saw scores of file folders separated by metal dividers. He vaguely remembered this sort of design from a Monty Python movie (Dudley only rented it for the topless girls running in one of the last scenes).

Flipping through them, he saw many names. Swallow Sidecar, Sleekeazy/L'Oréal, Blackpool South Shore Pier & Pavilion, British Leyland Motor Corporation, and Games Workshop, Paul Raymond Publications, Galaxy Publications, as well as a large number of individual stores, were on the muggle side of business. Files on the The Daily Prophet, Universal Brooms Ltd, Obscurus Books, the Caerphilly Catapults quidditch team, and Whizz Hard Books. The rest of the folders were in foreign languages.

Sitting heavily in the chair, Harry allowed himself to be overwhelmed for a few moments. Clearly his ancestors liked investing in up-and-coming businesses. He recognized most of the magical businesses and (with the exception of Universal Brooms, which went out of business in the late 70s, which he knew about from Ron), they were all doing well now. Of the muggle ones, he could only really identify British Leyland and L'Oréal. Leyland was so British that the government nationalized it, and the international company L'Oréal's products were even used by his aunt.

"Are you well, Harry?" came the voice from behind him.

Swiveling to face the bust, he replied, "Not really, Nabil. The more I find out, the more I realize how out of my depth I am. I mean, I'll get it all under control _eventually_ , but right now it all looks too big for me."

"I understand young man," Nabil said comfortingly. "You were not raised to this, nor were you educated by the proper masters."

"Exactly. I guess... I guess I'll have to turn my bankers loose on this mess. I really haven't any idea what all this means for me, and the numbers just... I don't know what is and isn't important here."

"Taking these to trusted masters would be a good idea," Nabil replied. "Just because you are the last Poter doesn't mean that you must bear it all on your shoulders. All leaders, from the smallest of tribals to the greatest of caliphates, understand the importance of delegating responsibilities."

"You're right," Harry admitted. "I just have too much to do, and not a lot of time to get it all tended to."

"How do you not have time?" Nabil asked curiously.

"In a few weeks, I'm going on an exploratory expedition. Far East, ancient lost kingdom, that sort of thing."

"Just like your great-grandfather Henry's uncle, Coron," Nabil giggled. "He spent many of his days exploring Africa, harvesting many rare magical supplies. As I recall, as a member of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, he added to your house's coffers most considerably as their primary supplier of ingredients."

"Huh. That's really interesting. Later on I'll have to write down all this history."

"But that has already happened. In another place, there lies your blood's Place of Home. There is where you'll find these histories, young Harry."

"Skara Brae. I'll have to get there later. I don't have a month or so to get used to the family magics. Plus, I'm almost fourteen; I don't want to get overwhelmed by that stuff."

"So what now, Harry?"

"So now I talk to Dobby about whatever he's doing, and then work out what I need to get done today, rather than asking my banker later."

"Harry Potter sir," Dobby's voice came from the door. "Dobby has finished."

"That's great, Dobby!" Harry enthused, turning to face him. "Grab a chair and tell me what's happening."

"Harry," Nabil interrupted from behind him, "Please set me on the desk. I wish to hear this as well."

Harry did, and Dobby began with, "Dobby has checked the rune stones, all are working properly. The damage spots were old wear, dry rot from being hidden so long, small water damage from seaside, that sort. Dobby patched them up good as new. House is ready, sir."

"Good work, Dobby. What protections are we under?"

"Muggle repel, Not-Notice, Not-Plot sir. Inactives are War Wards and Stasis, for when headship is not there, sir."

"Fantastic! That means we have a place to stay, and you'll have a proper office!"

"Yes, Harry Potter, sir," Dobby nodded excitedly. "Dobby will find good room for his papers, and soon be starting on getting prices for houses."

"Dobby," Nabil began, "you may not be aware of this, but Fleamont built a basement into the bedrock of the house. He claimed it was for 'investment storage'. You may want to check to see that the sea hasn't damaged it."

"Of course, Missy Statue. Who be you?"

"My name is Nabil. I have been honored to be a part of the Poter family since 1100."

"Ah! Dobby did not know that Harry Potter was so blessed with ancient knowledgy one!"

"And you are Dobby, of the Abased Ones," Nabil continued. "I admit, your species was always quite highly valued and respected by the entire line of Poter, as well as those whom wedded into our family."

"Dobby is so lucky," he quietly muttered, looking at the floor.

"Yes, yes you are," Nabil mildly agreed. "Now please go and check Fleamont's basement."

"Yes, Missy!" Dobby cried out, popping away. And then popped back in. "Missy Nabil," he began sheepishly, "Dobby does not know where the basement door is."

"The entry is a trap door in the cloak room."

Dobby popped away, leaving Harry to sit in the chair as he turned Nabil towards him. "Thanks for pitching in. I wouldn't have known to recommend that."

"You are very welcome, Harry. I have always enjoyed helping the family as best I can."

"Might you have any other suggestions?"

Nabil seemed to think for a moment before saying, "What exactly is Dobby's purpose?"

"Estate management," Harry stated without hesitation. "Potter Village Manor is a wreck, so he'll be looking into reconstruction. The house near Skara Brae is under too heavy of wards to deal with for now, and Dobby hasn't seen the villa in France yet. Crap," Harry exclaimed, "I forgot to have Dobby go back to the Riddle place. It's probably half fallen down by now.

"With this house in excellent condition, I plan to use it as my home for now, and have Dobby use a room for his office. He'll need the space once he gets started on the Village Manor. I'm still not sure how to pull down the stasis field on the house before I take the headship, so that might just have to wait until next summer."

"I see," she replied. "Do me a favor? While I consider this, go and pull open those curtains. This room has always begged for light."

Getting up to grab the pull rope, Harry slid the heavy curtains aside, and then gaped at the incredible view of the ocean to the west through the floor to ceiling glass. The South Pier was in full swing, people on summer holiday pouring in and out of the entertainment area, even as sea birds wheeled and swooped. Flicking the catches, Harry slid a window open. It slid to the side, and Harry stepped out onto a small, railed deck.

Leaning against the railing, he deeply inhaled the clean sea air. The light was well up, even though this side of the building was cast in the morning's shadow, leaving him cool and relaxed.

Looking up and down the street, he saw why Blackpool was a resort town. This whole section of the town had a holiday, almost carnival air to it. An electric tram ran up and down the street, scores of shops and food sellers were open and busy. Harry knew he'd have to get the local event calendar to see what all Blackpool had to offer.

Stepping back inside, he looked around the room again. The character was _completely_ different in the light, and now he could see little knick knacks dotting the shelves. Figuring that those were what Dobby was sensing a concentration of, Harry began walking the room.

In one corner was a massive globe. Looking at it closely, he saw several markings in various colors of ink, and a hinge. Sighing, he moved to the other side, undid the catch, and opened the top to reveal a huge bar setup, complete with several bottles of various alcohols. Closing it up, he then moved to a bookshelf.

There were a lot of different topics there, seemingly in no order at all. A cookbook sat next to a telephone directory of 1965 London which was next to a book on Mesopotamian runic theory.

Unfortunately, _all_ of the bookshelves were like that. Harry knew that it would drive Hermione absolutely insane, and wondered if he should turn her loose in the room. And then he stopped, remembering that he had yet to see the rest of the house.

Shaking his head (and remembering that he'd get to it all eventually), Harry retreated to the desk.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes, thanks Nabil. Is there anything else you might be able to tell me about the house?"

"Hmm. Originally built in 1822, it was purchased by the Potter family in 1835 as a town home during the summer festival season. Before this time, I was kept in a villa in France. Hadrian Potter, Fleamont's father, used the house for this purpose. He also used it as an easy way to meet various house allies.

"In later years, Fleamont would use this house as the center of his business dealings, as well as various meetings. Blackpool has been quite industrious over the last century, and Fleamont had an excellent head for business. His bride Euphemia caused quite a few heads to turn in scandal by dressing in the current non-magical style and going out dancing with Fleamont during the 1920s.

"James spent many summers here, but did not live here primarily. I am not sure where he did live, however. He and I never quite got on. I believe he called me 'A know-it-all hag who needed to stay in the past'. Of course, I called him 'An arrogant little weasel who needed a good hiding'. I believe his bedroom was just downstairs, just as the master bedroom is at the end of the hall from this office.

"Of the house itself, it has ten guest bedrooms, one master, a full kitchen, several sitting rooms and dens, and this office. As I said, it was more of a meeting place and holiday home for sleeping than anything else."

"Fascinating," Harry commented, taking notes. "Was the house ever wired for more modern amenities? Electricity, gas, telephone?"

"Oh, yes," Nabil replied delightfully. "This house has always been one of the first to be set up with the latest utility. Gas lighting and cooking were installed in 1852, electricity in 1879, and telephone service in 1887. Since then, the gas has remained unchanged, the electricity update in 1968, and the telephone in 1977."

"Huh. So my suggestion to Slipshard to invest in new companies is something the Potters have always done," Harry mused.

"Quite so. Hadrian almost single-handedly set up the company to build the South Pier, partly because he was irritated at Ivar Longbottom's claims that 'his' neighborhood near North Pier was doing exceptionally well, but mostly because he didn't want to walk all the way there.

"Fleamont was more prolific, especially with the non-magicals. Swallow Sidecar was one company he invested in. He was quite proud of his foresight in the investment. Other modern companies were largely due to his investments. I'm sure your banker can tell you more."

"Harry Potter sir!" Dobby called excitedly. "You must come and see!"

"Alright, Dobby. Let's head downstairs, and..." Harry blinked at the sudden gloom as Dobby had grabbed his hand and popped them... somewhere.

"Here, sir!" Dobby nearly shouted, almost dragging Harry along excitedly. Harry noted dressed stone walls and torchlight in the small room Dobby had popped them into. Dobby dragged him into the next room, where Harry saw an entire wall of shelves, floor to ceiling, covered in small automobiles. Cars, trucks, buses, and so on.

"Model cars, Dobby?" Harry asked a little disbelievingly.

"No, sir! Not model cars! Dobby senses shrinky charms!"

Harry's mind stilled for a moment, his thought shifting down another track. "Shrinking charms...," he muttered. "So these are all _real_ cars?"

"Dobby believes so, sir! Looky, scores of cars, sir!"

Slowly, Harry walked down the extensive line of shelves. One couldn't be British and not recognize certain makes and models by sight, after all. Jaguar, Austin, Morris, Rover, Daimler, and Triumph, just to name a few. There were quite a few duplicates, and not a few single models. The identification of shrinking charms altered _everything_ about how he viewed this room.

Towards the end were deeper shelves, and he saw what appeared to be crude dioramas. Tiny little wood and steel drums, colorful cylinders, 'model' warehouses full of crates, scaffoldings, workshops, jerry cans, sand bags, rail cars of various configurations, tiny boxes full of bottles, all manner of tools and equipment.

The shelves below that were full of military vehicles. Trucks, tanks, personnel carriers, trailer mounted guns of all sorts, cannons, howitzers, tractors, motorcycles, and jeeps. Alongside each of those was a tiny set of boxes.

On the very bottom shelf lay several tiny drums, each the size of his fist. Most were in red, some in blue, others in green.

Harry stood slowly, feeling lightheaded. "Fuck. Was granddad gearing up for a war?"

"He did go through two wizarding wars, sir," Dobby gently reminded Harry.

"Point," Harry admitted, casting his eye up and down some hundred feet of shelves. "And _everything_ has shrinkage charms on it?"

"Yes sir. Also, shelves act as stasis charm fields. Anything placed on shelf gets stasified."

"Damn."

Harry stepped away from the shelves, and then began looking around. Against the opposite wall was a massive potions brewery. Walking over, Harry took note of the neatly arranged equipment hung on pegboards, the thoroughly scoured workbench, and the notebooks carefully placed into cubbyholes set just under the pegboards.

"Must've been where Fleamont created Sleekeazy," Harry mumbled.

Turning to look at Dobby, he asked, "Dobby, is there a way to the outside from this basement?"

"Maybe, Why does sir ask?"

"I'm thinking that Fleamont didn't want to just unshrink a car on the street. This basement is big enough to unshrink a car with space to spare. I'm thinking he might have unshrunk the car in here, and then drove out through a hidden exit."

"Yes, Harry Potter sir!" Dobby cried out, emitting more pulses of magic. Within moments, however, his ears drooped in failure. "Dobby apologizes, sir. Dobby could find no secret exits."

"That's okay, Dobby. We'll just have to make our own later."

"Also, Dobby apologizes for dragging sir down here so suddenly. It was wrong of Dobby to do."

Kneeling down, Harry resting his hand on Dobby's spindly shoulder, gently saying, "I understand, Dobby. And your apology is accepted. In the future, just warn me, okay?"

Once more, Harry had an armful of happily sobbing house elf, as Dobby was now going on about having the greatest wizard in the world who didn't believe in horrible punishments.

Once Dobby got ahold of himself, Harry said, "How about we get some food in here, and I try to find a way to contact Neville? That way we can sit and relax, and maybe have Neville help us go thought the place."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another chapter that got away from me. More Dobby (because Dobby is awesome), and a new minor character. Nabil was created to add some color, some non-essential history, and a sense of what kinds of magics have been lost over time. She could have been a portrait, but portraits generally weren't made of royalty until the Renaissance. So I went with an animated bust.  
> And I have made up a bunch of background on Fleamont Potter. The cars will make sense later (once Slipshard gets ahold of the paperwork). The military stuff was, well, stolen.  
> Bear with me here. Imagine what a wizard with an Invisibility Cloak, Shrinking Charms, and the ability to teleport can get ahold of. I basically made Fleamont a big "Oooo, nifty!" sort of guy. The kind of guy who didn't really grow up until much later in life. He wasn't conservative, he was very intelligent, and with a combination of sensible foresight and an Owl in Divination, I would think a person could get pretty far that way.  
> In all honesty, I have no intention of Harry going to town against Voldemort in a 1970 tank. And I have no idea what all is in the crates yet. Well, except for the tiny boxes of bottles. That's all booze.  
> Lastly, on the military stuff, I basically went to a model website and hit up their 1/35 scale military model accessory pages. 
> 
> As always, comments and criticisms are always welcome.


	21. A Lovely Day Among Friends

Once Harry made his way back up after winding through the house, he sat at the desk and marveled at most of the house.

The first floor consisted of a truly massive kitchen and dining hall (crystal chandelier, teak and rosewood floor and furniture), as well as two parlors and a tastefully appointed bar in what appeared to be a study, all traditionally appointed as befitting old British gentry. 

The second floor held three parlors, all done up in very eye-jarring, eclectic manners; one was the Victorian/1950s Futuristic style, one was done up all in deep-pile shag carpeting, bean bags, tie-dye curtains, and other American counter-culture and British Mod style from the 1960s, and the last, quite confusingly, was done up in what appeared to be a religious style that Harry was unfamiliar with. Given that his only real experience with religion was the Church of England, this was a very narrow window of knowledge. Six bedrooms were identical, clearly used as guest bedrooms. Creams and faded greens covered the walls, and the beds were simple things.

The last four bedrooms were more personalized. One held a vast amount of cobbled together potions equipment, and the small stasis boxes were labeled with Dittany, Aconite, and Bellerophon Root; Harry knew from his experience with Remus Lupin that these were all ingredients in the Wolfsbane potion. Going through the wardrobe, he found several Hogwarts robes, as well as clothing that would fit someone slightly overweight. A number of potions and divination books lined the shelves, and a small, occupied wand stand rested on the night stand. The wand was, in Harry's best guess, black walnut. Narrow and straight, Harry guessed it to be about ten inches long.

The next bedroom was appointed oddly. The trim along the walls were etched in runic equations, while the furniture was all scarred metal. The mattress of the bed was in perfect condition, but the bed frame, table, chairs, and wardrobe all bore deep gouges. Sadly, there were no further hints as to the inhabitant, as there was nothing else in the room.

The third bedroom was clearly that of a hormonal teenager. Magical posters of witches undressing were on the walls, a half dozen small statues of witches and wizards disrobing and performing sexual acts were on various shelves. Ancient books on spells he'd never heard of lined a book shelf, as well as a few tomes on law, societal tradition, and notebooks on arithmantic spell breakdowns. Old, empty potion bottles covered the bedside table, and the bed sheets themselves held small blood stains.

The last bedroom was much more richly appointed than the others. Red and gold brocade masked a massive bed from view, while the carpeting was carpeted in a rich, deep blue (unlike the others, which were all bare hardwood). The shelves lining the walls were all older-volume Hogwarts books, a number of muggle novels, and one shelf held a pigeonhole rack absolutely packed with scrolled parchment. The wardrobe held older-fashion Hogwarts uniforms, some underwear, and nothing else.

Back in the hall, he allowed himself to process all of this. Clearly, now that all of the factors were in place, he identified the rooms as those of the Marauders on their summer holidays. Further, it was clear that the rooms belonged, in order, to Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and James Potter. That Pettigrew was apparently working on the Wolfsbane Potion was startling, Remus' room being cleared out held little surprise, Sirius' room being a recovery station during the war was enlightening, and his father's bedroom clearly bore witness to the man's dedication to study, as well as cushy upbringing.

Shaking his head, he decided to leave it all for later; the rooms clearly weren't going anywhere. The top floor held the massive office, a room styled like a boardroom with another bar, and the master bedroom. Opening the door, Harry stared at the largest bed he'd ever seen. An old-fashioned four-poster, there were no rails for hanging curtains. Turning, he saw muggle-style dressers and a couple of closets, all filled with out of fashion clothes.

Atop the dressers were a couple of jewelry boxes, a small bowl with a keyring and muggle change, and a stand padded in velvet bearing three wristwatches. The walls were unadorned, and a trunk stood at the foot of the bed. Within the walk-in closets were scores of clothes in various styles ranging wildly from traditional Victorian to 1960s Mod; clearly one closet was for his grandfather, the other for his grandmother. Leaving them along, he peeked under the bed. The floor was bare, but he did see what appeared to be gleaming eye bolts set into the underside of the bed frame. Shaking his head in confusion, he then opened the trunk.

And promptly closed it. He saw a great deal of leather and chromed rivets, and had seen enough of Dean and Seamus' various magazines to figure that he'd discovered enough for the moment. Possibly the entire year. Or the current millenium.

Now back to in the office (and actively trying to repress his newfound knowledge of his grandparents' proclivities), he relaxed, letting his mind decompress from the discoveries. Hedwig flew in through the open window, alighting on his desk.

Taking the proffered letter (as well as offering her some Hagrid-made owl treats), he called for Dobby.

"Yes, Harry Potter sir?"

"Dobby, would you know where the Longbottom estate is?"

"Dobby does, sir. Dobby was there many times when Bad Master would try to intimidate Dame Longbottom and fail."

Snickering internally (and remembering Neville's grandmother from the train station), he asked, "Would you be willing to go there and bring him here? I was hoping to spend some time with Neville, and I don't know exactly how to tell him how to get here."

"Of course, sir," Dobby replied even as he wisped away.

Ten minutes later (and just as a few items in all the paperwork was beginning to make sense), Dobby and Neville popped into the room.

"Welcome to my house," Harry opened with a smile.

"Hey, Harry," Neville replied, looking around the room. "Thanks for bringing me, Dobby."

"Sir is very welcome. Harry Potter sir, does you mind if Dobby does some grocery shopping?"

"Nope. I'm sure Neville and I can manage to find something to do with ourselves."

"Err..."

"Right, money!" Harry exclaimed, pulling a roll of bills out of his pocket. Peeling off 300 Pounds, he handed it to Dobby, saying, "I don't know if there's anything in the house, so get what you think we'll need. Oh, and the coffee. We'll probably want to look at appliances later."

"Of course, Harry Potter sir," Dobby replied with a bow, his glamour resetting itself as he walked out of the office.

"Seriously, Harry," Neville began, laughter in his voice, "that is one heck of a house elf."

"Don't I know it," Harry laughed out. "Trust me, I wouldn't have been able to be a _tenth_ this far along without him. Seriously." At Neville's expression of askance, Harry gestured for him to sit, saying, "He's examined the British houses for me, fixed up what little was wrong with this one, and he'll be hiring people to do more intensive repairs on the others as they need it. Without him, I'd probably only be at the Village Manor. Now I'm relocating here, and won't have to live out of a nice tent anymore."

"That's pretty good progress," Neville admitted.

"And now that other stuff is rolling, I'll be opening up my mum's dad's stuff soon. I already contacted my lawyer about that."

"Good, good. What else?"

Harry spent the next hour filling Neville in on the events of the last couple of days. To his credit, Neville only interrupted to ask for certain clarifications even as he took notes. The only thing Harry left out was Nabil's input and presence.

"Well mate," Neville began, "it looks like you got most of it sewn up. A few meetings, some signatures, and you'll be ready to head off to adventure."

"Adventure," Harry snorted dirisively. "At the time it was an opportunity, but now that I've actually been able to think about it, I'm pretty sure my luck will have cannibal sun cultists coming after me."

Neville laughed at that. "Possibly, yeah. So, what are you going to do now?"

Sighing, Harry rotated his neck, popping the vertebrae a little. "Actually, I was hoping you and I could just hang out. Maybe go out, grab a bite, you show me around Blackpool a bit, that sort of thing."

"Sounds great," Neville agreed enthusiastically, standing up from his chair. "Anything on the personal list you're wanting to grab that might be open on a Sunday?"

"Hm. I need decent clothes, maybe look at some electronics, since this place is wired for electricity. Possibly a phone; I haven't seen one in here yet."

Neville pondered for a moment before answering, "Houndshill. Massive shopping center towards the middle of town. They have most everything, and it's muggle, so maybe you can point some stuff out to me. Then there's either the Abington or Bonny Street Markets. Those can get a little random, so there's always a good mix of stuff.

"Of course," Neville continued, smirking, "we could go to North Pier. You know, away from the 'common rabble' of the South Pier."

"Oh, of course," Harry replied sarcastically, a smile growing on his face. "After all, nothing made for the _common man_ would ever be good enough for men of means like us!"

The two boys laughed at that as Harry jotted out a note for Dobby before heading out the door.

Six hours later, that pair were still laughing as they re-entered the house, staggering under the weight of bags.

"I'm telling you, Nev," Harry began, "Thank God for taxis."

"No lie, mate," Neville replied, setting the dozen or so bags he had volunteered to carry down in the entryway. "I couldn't imagine doing this without either shrinking charms or one of our house elves. So, where are we putting all this crap?"

Harry stopped, all the earlier glee sliding off his face. "I... I'm not sure. I just got here this morning, and I haven't even picked out a bedroom."

Neville shrugged at that. "So, master bedroom, check."

"No!" Harry shouted, wide-eyed as scraps of well-oiled black leather and shining chrome rivets danced across the back of his vision. "I-I mean," he slowly, nervously recovered, "the master bedroom might have been where my grandparents passed of dragonpox. Until I change the sheets and stuff, not... just not yet."

"Huh," Neville blinked before shaking his head. "Right, right. Not raised in pureblood stuff. Sorry mate, but as _soon_ as I hit seventeen, I'm expected to move into the master bedroom. Master of the house, Head of the family, and all that. It didn't occur to me that you might not see it that way."

"It's fine, Nev," Harry replied, inwardly relieved that Neville bought his reason for avoiding the bedroom. "I'll just use one of the guest bedrooms for now."

The pair tromped up the stairs with Harry's purchased loot, and Harry selected the first guest bedroom. It was simple, so Harry and Neville began putting stuff away.

"Y'know, Nev," Harry commented slyly, "that group of girls was eyeing you pretty hard as we were going through the Bonny Street Market."

"Uh-huh," Neville replied dully. "No less than that gaggle peeking at _you_ in Houndshill."

"Oh, thank God they didn't ask for phone numbers," Harry groaned out, remembering the giggling fivesome of girls his age. "I don't know the number here. Hell, I don't even know if the phone works!"

"The tellyphone does not work, Harry Potter sir," Dobby commented from the doorway, a pile of bedding hovering behind him. "Dobby will have to make arrangements for that. Electric is on, however."

"That's a good point," Neville interjected. "Dobby's going to need some kind of presence in the muggle world."

"Right," Harry slowly stated, considering it. "He'll need identification, possibly an NIS number. Where the hell am I going to get _that_?"

"Dunno mate. You have a lawyer, ask her."

"Or Gringotts. They might have a way."

"Anyways mate," Neville began, turning away from the dresser where he'd been setting up some sort of nearly alien (to him) contraption. The instructions were simple enough, but it's function... "anything else happening?"

"Not really Nev. What about you? Has anything happened with the _Hidden Potions Master_?" Harry answered smirkingly.

"I'm starting to regret telling you that," Neville groaned out. "Can't we just take the mickey on each other about the girls?"

"Oh, sure!" Harry replied gleefully. "That one redhead in Bonny Street was eyeballing you _really_ hard. But I'm pretty sure her blonde friend might be up for something... _group related_."

"Oh, piss off, Harry!" Neville laughed out, flinging a pillow at Harry's head. "And trust me, _neither_ of them were looking at me like that brunette was looking at you." At Harry's confused look, Neville continued, "The way she was licking her lips, well... I wasn't sure that she wasn't going to just grab you and snog your face off."

Harry cringed a little, finally remembering the young lady in question. Appearance wise, she didn't really stand out. But the hunger in her eyes... He'd seen that kind of hunger in the eyes of some of the seventh years. And in Oliver Wood's eye when he was gazing at the Quidditch Cup.

"Alright, alright, fine. Criminy, gonna have to have _someone_ give me The Talk soon. Maybe Mr. Weasley?" he mused aloud.

"Harry," Neville replied seriously, "he's a man with seven children. Does he even know what protection is, much less what it's for?"

Harry blinked in dawning horror-filled amusement. "I wonder what his take on a muggle condom would be."

"What's a condom?" Neville asked blankly.

"You mean you... Pureblood, right. Got it. Not it. Not gonna do it, nuh-uh."

Neville shrugged, and then smiled wickedly. "What, do you think that I live in Britain's vacation capital, and _don't_ know what a condom is?"

"For fuck's sake, Neville," Harry huffed out. "You had me going there. So, you sticking around for supper?"

"Sadly, I can't. While I would love to see what you or Dobby can whip up, I really do need to be getting home."

"That's fair, Neville. Any final bits of advice for me?"

"I saw that you have a floo fireplace on the ground floor. Get it connected. At least then you'll be able to get around without having to rely on Dobby."

"But Dobby _likes_ ferrying Harry Potter sir about," Dobby claimed from the doorway, this time levitating some sort of papery, brownish-gray ball behind him. It vibrated ominously.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, Dobby. But your job is to see to my properties, not be my taxi. And I already told you that I'd be paying you more if that was the case."

Dobby yelped, running off down the corridor.

"What the hell was Dobby carrying," Harry mused aloud.

"Hornets nest," Neville mildly replied with a shrug. At Harry's fearful expression, he continued with, "They're pretty common out here, actually. He probably found it in one of the chimneys. If he's anything like our house elves, he'll just relocate the nest to the woods east of here. In the city they're a pest, but we use them to deal with insects. A good ward control scheme and a nest of hornets is better than any insecticide potion."

"Huh. I did not know that. And Professor Sprout doesn't use that because..."

"Because firsties are _stupid_ ," Neville laughed back. "I mean, can you just imagine the first years daring each other to poke at it? Madame Pomfrey would go spare from all the stings! And the hornet nests are in the NEWT years' greenhouses. You know, _vaguely responsible_ students."

Harry laughed at that. The sheer thought of Fred and George getting dared to poke a hornet nest was somewhat amusing.

An hour later, Dobby returned Neville to Longbottom Manor, leaving Harry in his newly claimed bedroom. Laying down in relaxation, he felt his eyes slowly begin closing.

"Dammit!" he shouted, springing up and running to the office. Sliding in on stockinged feet, he raced over to the desk and began frantically writing a letter.

Turning, he walked over to Hedwig, who was on the balcony railing looking out at the late afternoon ocean. "Hedwig, I'm sorry to spring this on you, but could you please take this to Bill Weasley as fast as possible?"

Nodding, she allowed Harry to tie the missive to her leg before taking off. Twenty minutes later, Harry opened the front door to allow Bill inside.

"I was a little concerned that you weren't at the Village, Harry," Bill commented, smiling a little.

"I am really sorry about that, Bill," Harry rushed out. "Dobby and I just opened the house this morning, and I got caught up in stuff."

"Harry, it's okay," Bill laughed out, gently clutching Harry's shoulder. "I wasn't there very long before your owl found me. So what's happening?"

"Dobby and I have decided to stay here. It's fully intact, in an excellent neighborhood. Dobby will be keeping his paperwork here while I get out and about."

"Who is Dobby?" Bill asked.

Another hour later, and Bill was up to speed on what all Harry had managed to accomplish over the last five days.

"Damn, Harry. Way to step butthole deep in it," Bill commented, relaxing in his chair in the ground floor parlor. "At least you have a plan, which is more than I can say for most people."

"I'm trying," Harry admitted. "Anyways, Roth advised me to talk to a field cursebreaker about what I'd need for a time in the tropics."

Bill considered this for a little bit while sipping on some fresh lemonade. "First, obviously, you'll need your resistance potions. Different lands have different diseases, but they tend to be similar by latitude. So get your boosters from Saint Mungo's Hospital. Get your specs prescription updated, maybe have your glasses enchanted. From there... They were talking somewhere off the coast of southern Japan... That means tropics and mountains. Volcanic islands, specifically. A good pair of boots, something muggle designed but magic built. Personally, I find that deep cleat combat boots work well for most terrains. After that, simple clothes that are durable and won't snag.

"I have seen too many wizards go into the bush wearing robes," Bill continued with a smirk. "Invariably, each one gets caught up on the underbrush well before getting anywhere near where we're going. So take a cue from modern explorers. Simple, durable, lots of pockets. A good hat that'll keep the rain and sun out of your eyes. Oh, and socks. _Lots_ of socks. Dry socks can make the difference between misery and tolerable."

Leaning back, and seeing that Harry was taking copious notes, he asked, "Did you get your bag ordered?"

"Yup. I'll be going back for it on Thursday."

"How much space did you order?"

Harry cringed a little. "I... may have gone overboard. A little. I mean, is ten bedrooms, plus work spaces, too much?" At Bill's raised eyebrow, Harry exclaimed, "It's Hedwig's fault! She would go for anything cozy!"

Bill laughed at that. Something about Harry blaming his bird was absolutely hysterical. "Okay. Needless to say, you have the space. For equipment, non-perishable food is a must. Hell, fill an entire bedroom with canned goods; it's a trick I learned the hard way. Medical supplies, muggle first aid kits are a godsend when bolstered with magic and potions, don't let anyone tell you different.

"Swimwear, camera, binoculars. Omnioculars if you can pull it off and there are no muggles around, or if you can get the seller to make them look muggle. Baby wipes are an essential for fast cleaning; all else fails, hit the local fried chicken place and get a bunch of wet-naps. In fact, I strongly suggest doing _exactly_ that. Those things are a god-send.

"You have an enclosed place to sleep, so you won't need sleeping bags or mosq... On second thought, get some mosquito netting. Attach it to a wide-brim hat to keep midges and such out of your face. A muggle torch, because some places magic won't work well. If the team doesn't have them, portable walkie-talkie radios should be an essential. Possibly a base station radio, or even CB radios. You need a license to use them in Britain, but you shouldn't have too many issues in the jungle. Notebooks with a waterproof envelope are great, as well as pens and pencils. 

"Knives. A brace of utility knives for everything from skinning an animal to trimming potions ingredients. Also, never use a knife as a weapon if you're untrained. You'll just hurt yourself. To people like you and me, a knife is a tool, not a weapon. Trust me on this.

"On the purely magical side of things, potions. Lots of potions. Ingredients to make _more_ potions if you think you can brew them. A magic carpet would be excellent, but pricey. A good broom is an excellent compromise for a lone magical. If you're a dab hand with a beater bat, a set of bludgers can be deadly. Bug Blasting Pellets paired with a good insect repellant are fantastic. Enchanted toiletry tools are good, especially razors. Toilet paper. Not magical, but _essential_. Enchanted cookwear and household equipment can be useful. A mokeskin pouch is great for things you absolutely _cannot_ afford to be parted with. Pricey, but endlessly useful.

"For entertainment, and trust me, you are going to be _bored_ waiting for stuff to happen, I recommend books, board games, Wizard Crackers if you're with magicals; remember, the more they cost, the better the contents. Back issues of magazines are good; my tastes run to the Quibbler, but the Lovegoods are old friends of ours.

"Any questions so far?"

Harry blinked. Granted, he hadn't expected most of this, but he _had_ written it all down. "Won't Roth have most of this stuff already?"

"Probably. Conrad Roth is a legendary hand at expeditions. But don't rely on anyone else having what you need, Harry," Bill warned. "I learned that on my first expedition. What should have been glaringly obvious was missed by everyone."

"What was missing?"

"Bog roll.

"Anyways, you've surely noticed that there's a lot of muggle stuff mixed into this right?" Harry nodded. "That's because muggles are damn good at this sort of thing. Not having magic to rely on, they've come up with their own solutions. And trust me, I use the hell out of them. I have several catalogs that I order from regularly. Since you don't have the time or luxury to wait on mail order, I'm telling you what I can."

"I really appreciate this, Bill," Harry replied, going over his notes. "I wouldn't have ever come up with all of this."

Harry looked up as Bill sighed. "One more thing. And please, _please_ don't tell mum I told you this." Harry nodded solemnly in agreement. "I recommend that you talk to Roth about getting a gun and learning how to use it."

"But... I have a wand," Harry objected.

Bill sighed, knowing that that would be the response. "Magic's good for a lot of things, but not everything. Like... Oh, you know what a nundu is, right? Ton-and-a-half of giant magical cat, breath that can kill an entire village, takes a hundred wizards to take down, yeah?" Harry nodded, remembering the passages from the Monster Book of Monsters. "I've seen a muggleborn drop one with two shots from a rifle at five hundred meters."

"Wha? But that-"

"That is what a smart, skilled wizard who wasn't born into it does," Bill interrupted. "Muggles have made rifles that were designed to drop elephants, Harry. A good, heavy rifle is fantastic. One of my guys shoulders one, and he can hit stuff accurately at seven hundred meters. I personally carry an old Webley revolver. Damn thing kicks like hell, but it'll drop a charging tribesman at a thirty meters."

"I... Okay, Bill. I'll ask Roth about that. Can't hurt to have it, right?"

"Exactly. Aaaand I'm fairly certain that that's all the gear advice I can give you. I also wrote out a list of books that I recommend. All of them can be bought in Diagon, or owl-ordered."

Harry looked over the list, thankful that he had solid reading material for the upcoming month long sea voyage.

"So, anything else?"

Harry's gaze snapped up to meet Bill's. "Crap, I completely forgot!" he shouted as he jumped up and ran upstairs.

"So Dobby," Bill began, "how is Harry _really_ holding up?"

"Harry Potter sir is doing fairly well," Dobby replied, refilling Bill's glass. "Sir has been dealing with many, many things, but is coming through them well. Dobby is concerned, however. Sir has been having horrible headaches when stressed and angry. Bad enough to put him on the floor, almost blind for several seconds."

"Okay. When I get back to Gringotts, I'll send Healer Morgan a message about that. She's been asking about him."

"Dobby remembers evil Healer at bank from other times. She be dark one, full of hate and malice, but good at healing, and excellent with children. Dobby knows she will do her best for Harry Potter sir, even if she be scary as anything."

They stopped their conversation even as Harry clomped down the stairs, nearly skidding into the parlor. Bill blinked as Harry sapped down a large, silvery cloth and a large bundle of parchment.

"You remember Slipshard talking about breaking into Hogwarts for the basilisk, right?" Bill nodded; he'd been wondering how Harry was planning on doing that. "This is my dad's invisibility cloak. I know that Dumbledore can see through it, and I'm wondering if he put something on it before he gave it back to me."

Gently (while remembering Slipshard's admonitions to be careful with a _family heirloom_ ), Bill let the material slide through his fingers while letting his senses expand slightly. As a curse breaker, Bill had certain training in magical sensitivity that most magicals didn't receive. And that sense had saved Bill's life on more than one dig. The fabric almost didn't feel like fabric, more like woven quicksilver. The sheen was odd as well, never quite being one color, constantly shifting like holographic glitter.

Pulling out his wand, he cast several spells at the cloak. Colors flashed, and his eyes caught various readouts from the analytical spells. Frowning, he cast several more before setting the cloak back onto the table, saying, "It's clean, Harry. Might just be that Dumbledore knows some of the things it doesn't shield against."

"Maybe..." Harry noted doubtfully.

"Wait, you said it was your father's?" Harry nodded at that. "Amazing. I've never heard of an invisibility cloak lasting more than a decade. The enchanments wear off, or the demiguise hair shed enough, or just general wear causes the power to fade. That this was your dad's... This might actually be a unique Potter enchantment."

"Huh. Well, family magics are a possibility. But since it's clean, fine. And now there is this," Harry announced, unfurling the sheet of parchment. At Bill's questioning look, Harry winked, touching it with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Instantly, the parchment began to fill itself with lines of ink. Room by room, floor by floor, named footprints moving around even as the walls were drawn in around them, until the entire parchment was full.

"Bill, this is the Marauder's Map. My father and his friends made it while they were in school. Fred and George found it in their first year, and they passed it to me last winter. It shows the entirety of Hogwarts, minus the Chamber of Secrets, including all of the occupants. Every minute of every day."

Slowly rising to his feet, Bill slowly hovered his fingers over the parchment. He remembered a couple of the seventh years telling tales of the Marauders and their legendary pranking abilities.

Closing his eyes, he allowed his magical senses to consume his awareness. Almost instantly, the sense of a stack of interrelated charms, potions, and unfamiliar enchantments washed over his hands. Slowly his mind began tracking their interactions, the ebb and flow of the magics feeding information to the parchment, even at such a distance. He felt the wards being very slightly leeched of a nearly microscopic amount of magic in the form of data, and marveled at how the _castle_ could identify the individuals, rather than the parchment.

Reeling in his senses, he opened his eyes, staring at the parchment in awe. ' _Students in Hogwarts_ created this!' his thoughts screamed. He'd never heard of such advanced magics outside of lost, ancient magics, much less by students.

Dragging his thoughts back to the present, his gaze flicked between the cloak and the map. A smile slowly rose on his face as he realized the potential therein.

"I get it," he whispered, his eyes slowly moving to meet Harry's. "I get why you said getting in wouldn't be a problem. Oh, this is too good, Harry. This really is the perfect set of tools for breaking into Hogwarts."

"I know. My big concern was the cloak. If Dumbledore could see through it, it might not have been ideal for this kind of thing."

"And where is the Chamber of Secrets?"

A finger came to to point at a bathroom currently occupied by one Myrtle Warren. "Second floor girl's loo. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. I'll need to be there; the command is in parseltongue."

"Right, right," Bill replied breathlessly, already dreaming of robbing the _safest place in magical Britain_.

"Of course, the big question is 'How do we get back out?', isn't it?"

Bill blinked at that. "Actually, that's the easy part. If we use a large-scale portkey to extract the basilisk, we can just ride out with it. We might leave a bit behind, but that's a known risk with something so large. Portkeys will work fine getting off Hogwarts grounds; any number of pureblood children carry emergency portkeys on them at all times. The Board of Governors wouldn't dare restrict that, much less Dumbledore. The only fiddly bit is getting out without setting off the 'outgoing portkey' alarm. That's where you being the head of a Founder line comes in. If we can access the ward scheme from inside the Chamber, I can guide you through making exceptions and limitations. From there, pop, gone."

"Right, got it. Wait, what all can be turned into a portkey, Bill?"

"Anything," Bill shrugged. "The Ministry usually uses old rubbish, trash that muggles won't bother with. Old shoes, dented kettles, you name it. International portkeys designed for mass transit usually use a length of rope."

"So... we could get whoever enchants the portkey to, say, cast it on a steel spike?"

"Sure," Bill readily admitted. "What's your thought?"

Harry scrubbed at his cheeks for a moment before saying, "If the size of the portkey is an issue, can we just hammer a portkey spike into the carcass? I mean, if it's as not-rotten as Slipshard thinks, then shouldn't the _whole_ thing get pulled along?" 

"That... is a viable option, Harry. Other thoughts?"

"Chamber exploration. I mean, the basilisk is the primary target, and then the wards. Unless..."

"Unless?" Bill asked, intensely curious at where Harry was going. Slipshard had said that Harry was unexpectedly creative, and Bill was quite eager to see this at work.

"Say we can't get the wards to work for me. What if... I am assuming that there's a way to track portkeys?"

"The Ministry can, yeah. Dumbledore as headmaster can authorize that."

"So... multiple portkeys. Two hammered into the snake, more in a bag. If the wards won't cooperate, we activate one of the portkeys to an empty location. Then we activate the rest. The second one, the one in the basilisk, takes us to... wherever we're supposed to be delivering it. The ones in the bag pop off to random locations, muddying the trail."

Bill nodded at that. "An old smuggler's trick, but still very useful today. Not many people can cast the charm, so that would work in our favor."

"Last thought. The Chamber itself."

Bill leaned back, watching Harry's s flit back and forth as if he were observing several extremely volatile potions at once. "What of it?"

"Exploration," Harry explained. "I didn't see much when I was there. I got more detail in the memory that Slipshard got out of mes. But if it _was_ Slazar Slytherin's secret quarters, where is the bed? Kitchen? No idea, not even from the memory."

"So you need a cursebreaker," Bill smiled out.

"Partly," Harry replied, his eyes still moving. Until they stopped, growing wide.

"I need an archaeologist."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This one took a bit of doing, and is the longest chapter yet! Harry and Neville, having a nice, relaxing day. Nice, calm, and wholesome. Well, as wholesome as a pair of teen boys tend to get.  
> Still working towards the time skip portion. I just have too much foundation to lay!  
> And, as always, comments and criticisms are always welcome. Enjoy!


	22. Back to work!

The next morning (after Harry and Dobby had cleared out and packed up the tent), Harry woke with the dawn, in a mostly comfortable bed. Peering about blearily, he remembered that he and Dobby had moved into the Blackpool house.

Once his morning rituals were complete (and gleeful that every guest bedroom had an ensuite bath), Harry went to the kitchen to start making breakfast. Smelling a new, delicious aroma floating through the air, he followed it to the parlor he'd met Bill in the night before.

Dobby was sitting in a chair, sipping at a mug, a carafe resting on the table next to a large tray of breakfast foods.

"Morning, Dobby."

"Good morning, Harry Potter sir. Coffee is ready, and Dobby bought breakfasty foods at market yesterday."

"Good job, Dobby," Harry commented, sliding into a chair as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Tasting it, he found it rather bitter. A single spoonful of sugar made it palatable, and Harry relaxed into the warm, aromatic brew as he snagged a cream horn. The two made their way through their breakfasts almost silently, slowly coming to full awareness.

Finally properly awake, Dobby asked, "What does sir have for today?"

"Bank, lawyer. I'll have to sign some stuff, talk about the healer and the basilisk. Work on getting you muggle identification. I wonder if I can do that at the Ministry?" he mused aloud. "Hopefully, a fairly uneventful day."

"What about Madam Bonesy?"

Harry shrugged at that. "I need to give her time to go through a few dozen hours of memories. I figure she'll contact me when she's ready."

"Is reasonable," Dobby admitted. "Madam Bonesy a very busy witch."

"One thing did occur to me. The Riddle house. I'll need you to go and do a proper appraisal of it. I don't know how much damage the fight with the aurors did. Also, you'll need to go in your midget appearance. You'll need to talk with the groundskeeper about it all."

"Yes, Harry Potter sir. What do you want Dobby to tell him?"

Harry considered that for a moment before saying, "He's not fired. Since he's the most familiar with the property, I want to keep him on at his current pay and benefits. You'll need to cooperate with him about the grounds, history, upkeep, all of that. Also, find out just who's been paying him and paying the property taxes. From there, see what repairs or adjustments need done. From what I saw in the memory, it's an old muggle manor house, so it's bound to have been really nice. We just need to figure out what upkeep is needed."

"Dobby will do. Dobby recommends that sir visit ministry, get floo connected."

"Good point. That shouldn't take very long. A somewhat busy morning, but nothing I can't handle. Also, I'll visit Harkin, return the tent, see where he is on my bag."

Two hours later (as well as a massive packing up of paperwork), Harry was walking through a door in Nocturne Alley.

"Good morning, ma'am. Harry Potter to see Laura Langley if she's available?"

The (absolutely gorgeous) redhead smiled, saying, "Miss Langley is expecting you, Mister Potter. Fifth door on the right."

Harry stepped through the door, seeing his new attorney going over some paperwork. "Have a seat, Mister Potter." A moment later, she signed the papers, closing the folder before looking him in the eye. "I have to admit, the letter you sent was rather thorough," she started off with a sly smile. "The sheer list of things you're wanting from us is intriguing. Shall we go through them one at a time?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied, pulling out his own notes.

"So, executing the will is fairly simple. Bequeathments and such, no fuss. The only real issue is hunting down certain paperwork and individuals. And, of course, there is the matter of your legal guardian. Clearly you were placed with forbidden individuals, so there's that. Anything from you?"

Harry sighed. "Two things. I'm not sure about the houses being given."

Laura flipped through the near-latin legalese. "Ah, here it is. Petunia Dursley is a case of debt forgiveness and refund. Apparently the Potters gave her a loan for a house, with the intent of handing them back the money at the end of the contract. The will forgives that debt, as well as authorizes the refund.

"As for Severus Snape... Hm. No notation. Just an address. I recommend we contact this Mister Snape about the circumstances."

"Okay, got it. I'll have to find out where Professor Snape lives. Or I'll just send Hedwig to drop him a letter at Hogwarts."

"Sounds great," Laura commented. "So that's the will. Next is the Right of Conquest and the Hogwarts Charter. Why do you want to know?"

Harry sighed at that. "A few days ago, I declared the Right of Conquest over Voldemort. As the Heir to the Line of Slytherin, I became the head of that line. I need to figure out how that affects my school, as well as my rights and responsibilities for all of that. I also managed to snag the headship of the Gaunt Line, but they're considered an extinct line, from what I've heard."

Laura made her notes, saying, "This shouldn't be an issue. Some of us have kids who are near Hogwarts age; getting a copy of the charter and full rules shouldn't be difficult. Wading through it all, now _that_ is going to be challenging," she finished toothily. "Still, getting the rules of one of the foundational portions of Magical Britain will be entertaining, at the very least. Next?"

"Next is the Royal Society. Conrad Roth is going to call them and make an appointment, like the will states. But I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with all of that. Apparently I am in line to inherit a title, but what does a gentry title have to do with the Royal Society?"

"Not a small amount of things, actually," Laura replied, leaning back in her chair. "The Evans Foundation is one of the larger expedition funding trusts in the Society. You being the heir to all of that means that they'll want to maintain a positive relationship with you. You inheriting a title means doesn't actually mean much in the modern day, but there are small benefits.

"My... _sponsor_ is Duke Emil Langley. Through him, I know quite a bit about the modern rights and responsibilities of the landed gentry. Actually, now that I think of it," she continued, looking off to the side slightly, "with your permission I'd like to discuss that particular issue with him. Being elevated tends to be kind of jarring; he has complained about it for years."

"Why would he complain?" Harry asked confusedly.

Laura chuckled at that. "Because he was an orphan conscripted just as World War 2 began. He received his title because of his actions throughout the war. In fact, Queen Elizabeth elevated him three weeks after her coronation."

"Oh. Oh, wow," Harry murmured. "I remember reading about him in primary school."

"Mm-hmm."

"I would very much appreciate any help that I can get from him, Miss Langley. But what about the Society?"

"Well, with your birth records, getting the Evans holdings should be pretty simple," she shrugged. "If not, I can file some paperwork, get legal actions moving towards that. However..." Laura paused, flipping through the will. "Petunia Evans is your legal guardian?" Harry nodded at that. "In that case... No... Yes! Do you have a way to contact Conrad Roth?"

"I have his number. Why?"

Laura's smile widened hungrily. "Because it's two birds with a brick. Let Roth and me deal with Dursley. If I'm right, she'll get her house, and Roth will get legal custody of you. Easy, simple."

"That sounds amazing!" Harry exclaimed, eyes wide. "Um, he's supposed to come to Gringotts today. Do you have a phone here?"

She reached into a drawer, pulling out a cellular phone. "How about we cover that after we get through all of this. Anything else for the Royal Society?"

"I don't think so, but I don't know enough about it to have questions. Next is the Boy Hero book series. I'm wanting to know who started it, who's publishing it, and who got me 65% of the gross."

Laura blinked at that. "Seriously?"

"That's what Slipshard says Gringotts shows it as. We were both confused when that came up."

Noting down Harry's intent, Laura asked, "So, once we find this out, what do you want done about it?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm not sure yet. The money is solid, even if the series is... distasteful. But there might be a use for it down the road."

"Good call, leaving that open. Especially... You're going on the expedition, right? Yamatai?"

"That's right."

"Then you can use that publisher to write your own accounting of what happens on an archaeological expedition. Write your own book. Interviews, pictures, everything! Have total control over the book, and then make them publish it for you."

"That's an amazing idea! Good, great, cool. Let's go with that then. Next is the twenty thousand galleon payment for the cottage in Godric's Hollow. According to the tax office it was paid, but Gringotts isn't reading the payment to either of my vaults."

"Mm," Laura replied neutrally. "I would say to let Gringotts handle that for now. If it becomes a problem in the future, _then_ we'll get involved. Next?"

"More tax stuff. The tax office has certain incomes noted on my properties, but apparently it hasn't been updated in years. The tax office, a fellow named Leighton, is performing an audit on that."

"Then they have it covered," Laura firmly stated. "Trust me, _nobody_ messes with the tax auditors. Until their audit is complete, there's nothing that can be done. Once the audit comes in, then we can make moves."

"Got it. Next is the Godric's Hollow cottage itself. I'm told it was put under magical stasis really fast after Voldemort attacked, but I don't know if there are any possessions left. If there are, I'd like to get them out."

"Ooo, battle against the Ministry," Laura gleefully stated, a shark-like smile gracing her lips. Harry did note that she had absolutely no reaction to Voldemort's name. "I will have Alex get on that, see what the Ministry's powers of acquisition really are. After all, if there's a missing twenty grand _on top of_ what should be rightfully yours being seized, then there's a lot of options. Besides, even if it's all just a mess of clerical errors, suing for the contents of the house should be pretty easy. Time consuming, but more than enough opportunity to slap some old money faces around. I'll get that running today. Next?"

Harry paused for a moment. "I just recently learned this, but I apparently have rights as a Last Scion? I haven't had time to get any reading done on it. Hell, I haven't had time to even order any books on it! But I was hoping that there was a way to find lesser known benefits?"

"Last Scion rulings, huh?" Laura mused aloud, her eyes roving along her desk. "Tricky, but doable. I should have a list for you by the time you get back, as well as a few books to read. Anything else?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair in nervousness. "Two things, but they're not necessarily legal stuff."

"Hit me."

"Life Debts and Potter properties that might not exist on the tax record."

Laura blinked at that, then narrowed her eyes in concentration. Slowly, she started, "I don't think there's much we can do about unknown properties. You'll have better luck checking through your family's records.

"As for life debts, legally they're untouchable. As in, not even a full Wizengamot ruling can affect the execution of payment for a life debt. This is old, primal magical stuff.

"Depending on the severity of the debt," she continued in a lecturing tone, "in theory you could request anything from a simple payment of cash, all the way up to and including chattel ownership. Some debts, like an indirect rescue, would call for a favor in the future, or an agreed upon cash payment. The more extreme debts, like almost dying while saving someone? Those are where things get twitchy."

"Crap. I think I have one of the first ones, and possibly two of the second."

"Explain please?

And so Harry did. Pettigrew's 'saving' from being killed by Sirius (even though Harry was planning to turn him over to the Ministry, where he would undoubtedly receive the Dementor's Kiss), Ginny's saving from the Basilisk (and Harry's _very_ near demise), and saving Hermione from the troll, as well as her saving his ass during the whole Pettigrew fiasco.

Laura leaned back, considering all of this. Finally, she said, "I'll have to ask around. Not much is publicly know these days about life debts, so I'll get people researching it. You're going to have a lot of reading to get done when you get back," she ended with a smirk.

Harry just shrugged at that. "Nothing I wasn't expecting. I kind of got tossed blind into the magical world, so I've just been trying to keep my head up, you know?"

"I get you. Don't worry, we've got your back, Mister Potter. Trust me, all these items will absolutely make our jobs that much more pleasant."

Harry wrapped it all up with a few signatures, and then gave Laura Roth's number. Fifteen minutes later he was back in Gringotts, seated comfortably in Slipshard's office.

"I must say, Mister Potter, that the list you sent me is extensive," Slipshard began. We have been addressing several of the issues, but to properly list them is well thought of you. Where would you like to begin?"

Harry shook his head slightly; the morning had been going by rather quickly, and his thoughts were trying to wander a little. "I talked with Conrad Roth. He's up for the rough agreement of terms we talked about a couple of days ago. I covered the main items, and figured the fiddly bits would be worked out in negotiation."

"An accurate summation, Mister Potter," Slipshard replied, sliding out a folder. "I went ahead and wrote out the terms. They're fairly standard. Please go over the cover sheet; the rest is all legal language."

Harry read it over, and, sure enough, all of the terms that Slipshard had mentioned were there. Except for two...

"Slipshard, what's this Non-Disclosure Agreement about?"

"Ah. Standard language in a contract like this. Essentially, it states that nobody is allowed to publicize or speak of the expedition until the investors map out a release schedule. It essentially prohibits individual investors from undercutting the others by claiming the primary credit before the others are finished outlining their notes."

"Makes sense. Also, I am seeing that the cover sheet seems to be divided up?"

Slipshard smirked. "That is because of James Whitman. Being a muggle, there is a separate magical contract that will bind the investors. By signing, Whitman forgoes all rights to magical artifacts and knowledge gained on the expedition. It in fact allows Gringotts to pursue him in order to recover said items, as well as will bind him to silence on any and all supernatural events during the course of the contract. He'll never see the clause, but it will still be fully in effect."

"Huh. I didn't know you could do that. Then again, with how widely your dealings are, I really shouldn't be surprised."

"Indeed not, young man. But be thankful that this is an independently funded expedition. In the past, many explorers have gotten funding from your government, only to discover many of their artifacts missing. This is in fact because the Ministry of Magic would send a representative to simply confiscate any and all magical artifacts from such a funded expedition. In all honesty, I'm fairly certain that this treasure trove of ancient secrets is most of what the Department of Mysteries studies."

"I remember reading about that stuff," Harry stated. "In primary, the teacher told us about expeditions that were illegal in the countries, but British political force was used to allow the government to claim everyone else's stuff."

"Correct, Mister Potter. And the Ministry of Magic has had representatives on every one of those expeditions. Gringotts cannot countenance such interference, therefore we fund all of our digs strictly out of pocket. Much as you have in this case."

"Got it. Any progress on the mail issue?"

"Not yet, no," Slipshard sighed. "Sadly, it is one of our items of lesser import. We are working on it, but we will need more time."

"That's fine. I'm not expecting instant miracles, you know?" Harry smiled out. "Is it possible to send mail to a house elf?" 

"It is. What is your thought?"

"Send my mail to Dobby, at the Potter Townhouse in Blackpool. He'll be basing himself out of there, so... expedience."

"Good, good," Slipshard replied, noting that down.

"What about the issue with the vault?"

"Again, we just don't know. Getting the contents of the main vault is simplicity, but accessing the micro-vault is proving... trickier. It may have to wait until you can actually take up the Headship."

"I kind of figured. After all, no luck runs that smoothly. "Have you heard anything from the cursebreakers about the Gaunt Shack?" Harry asked, still going down his list.

"Not much. As I understand it, they sent a pair to investigate, but it's in the preliminary stages only. The head cursebreaker seems to be beside himself in glee, so that's something. Apart from that, the contract is signed, and they plan to do this methodically."

"That's what I'd hope for," Harry admitted. "There's no urgency. Next, I'd like to mention Healer Morgan."

"Alright. Spit it out, young man."

"Well, her scan came up with that huge list of problems. I was wondering if I could contract with her to get them addressed."

"Ah. Yes, definitely. Morgan expressed an interest in such a thing. I'll contact her. It may take a few days for her schedule to clear, but I do believe it'll be worth it.

"Okay. Next, I suppose, is the basilisk. Bill Weasley came by my house last night, and we talked it over. I let him scan my family heirlooms, and they came up clean."

"Good, good to hear. Have you two formed a plan of some sort?"

"For the basilisk, yes." Harry then outlined his plan, with contingencies, to Slipshard, who wrote down notes for the entirety of it. "So, I figure that getting the snake out won';t be an issue, but getting it out _undetected_ will be the tricky bit."

"Using the old smuggler's trick is a good idea," Slipshard admitted. "And that's only if you can't adjust the wards, check. Always good to have a reserve plan for your goals." Slipshard blinked at Harry's expression. "You seem to have more to say on the matter."

"Well, it's about the Chamber itself," Harry admitted. "If it really _was_ Slytherin's secret quarters, shouldn't there be more to it? Like I told Bill last night, he's a good cursebreaker, but he's not really a historian."

"I think I'm beginning to see where this is going, Mister Potter. Keep going."

"I figure that if I want to really open up the Chamber of Secrets, I'll need a historian. Someone properly trained, someone that I'll be working with for a while to come. And, lastly, someone that is prequalified to know about magic."

"Who might this mystery person be?"

"Lara Croft. Daughter of Richard Croft, Viscount. And according to Roth, the last of an old line of squibs."

"Hm. Yes, yes I can readily see where your mind has gone with this. Yes, I can definitely agree to this plan of action. I can have the contract written up in a couple of hours."

"You'll have to go through Roth, but I have a good feeling that she'll be up for it."

"Yes.... Yes, good. Anything else about the 'heist'?"

"Not from my end, no. Anything from your end?"

Slipshard smiled evilly. "Oh, yes. I have gotten you quite the payment for allowing others to view your battle with the basilisk. The warrior caste is especially proud of how you stood up and did battle at such a young age."

Ignoring Harry's blush, Slipshard continued. "Once I allowed the beast renderers access, they gave a base quote. Mind you, this is a _minimum_ amount that you will get from the carcass. Once the beast is delivered, the amount can only increase."

"I understand. How much?"

"After Gringotts' percentage, twenty million galleons."

Harry gaped, before finally recovering. "Twenty... That... Is that _half a billion pounds_?!"

"Roughly, yes, Mister Potter," Slipshard replied evenly. "Needless to say, your ability to invest has risen dramatically."

Harry was shaking slightly; the numbers were just too big for him to wrap around. "Okay, wait. No, wait. Focus... Okay, I'm... not okay, but better. First, I need to set up a fund for Dobby to be able to access. He's in charge of my properties, management and reconstruction."

"Sensible. A dedicated elf can work miracles. Steward of the House of Potter, eh? Good. About how much would you like to put in the fund?"

"I... have no idea. Say... forty thousand galleons?"

"I can easily do that under the investment portfolio."

"Also, does Gringotts offer unconventional services?"

Slipshard blinked at that. "We do, but we tend to charge rather more for them. Why do you ask?"

"Well, Dobby will need a muggle identity. Identification, NIS number, all that. I was wondering if Gringotts would be able to do such a thing."

Slipshard leaned back, pondering the question as he gnashed his teeth thoughtfully. "It's certainly possible, Mister Potter. I'll have to talk with some members of our international divisions, but I certainly think we can accomplish such a thing. Say, an emigre with a basic past, assigned his number as part of the naturalization process. I would say that it wouldn't cost more than two thousand galleons."

"That sounds fine. And I'm not blinking at the cost because Dobby will also be working on whatever I get from the Evans side of things. He'll definitely need a muggle presence to be able to get a lot of his job done. Also, Dobby will be making two hundred galleons a year in pay."

"Interesting. A paid house elf, will wonders never cease," Slipshard chuckled out. "I'll say, things are never boring when you walk into my office, young man."

"Well then, I'm about to make you a lot happier," Harry replied glumly as he opened the bag he had been carrying, pulling out a lot of files and setting them on the cleared (what Harry assumed to be) sideboard.

"What are these, Mister Potter?" Slipshard asked, eagerness lacing his voice.

"Quick question first, Slipshard. For a large quantity of investments, or investments that don't originate from within the bank, will I have to take them to a dedicated investment firm, or will Gringotts be able to keep helping me?"

Rubbing his hands together, Slipshard replied, "Mister Potter, for the kind of business you're about to bring us, I can safely and definitely state that Gringotts can assist you with nearly any legal investment."

"Even dedicated muggle ones?"

His hands stopped rubbing in glee for a moment. "How do you mean?"

"These are investment folios that I found yesterday morning in the desk of Fleamont Potter. There are a few dozen companies here, some magical, some muggle. It seems that my ancestors liked to invest in new things, too."

"Heh. Mister Potter, there are a not insubstantial number of goblins who disagree with exclusively investing in the magical world. I happen to be one of them. No, let me see what you have there, and I can tell you what I can help you with."

An hour later, Slipshard finally laid down the last folder. "I have good news, and so-so news, Mister Potter."

"Go for it."

"The good news is that few of these investments have gone out of business, and of those that have, you own all of their facilities, as part of the long-term contracts. Further good news is that all payments are routed into accounts with the Royal Bank of Scotland. Gringotts has dealings with them, so getting you access to those accounts in simplicity.

"Furthermore, according to the investment contracts, all of the manufacturers are required to send the investor, that's you, no less than three models of every product model manufactured. That's every model of automobile manufactured by a number of marques that fell under British Leyland, as well as Jaguar, which is what Swallow Sidecar became.

"Furthermore, on the magical side of the matter, you have direct access to a number of publishers, including the ones that print your school texts, as well as The Daily Prophet. At a rough guess, I'm going to say that you own about six percent of it at current. That's the good news.

"The so-so news is that since British Leyland was nationalized, you are out of luck for income streams there, _however_ they are still required to send you three cars of every model run, no matter how it gets broken up. You own the original facility for Swallow Sidecar, as well as the old site of Universal Brooms, as well as all of their old models not consumed by British Leyland.

"As for the investments in foreign languages, I'm afraid those will have to wait until I can get in a translator."

"So once I'm up and running, what am I looking at?" Harry asked in a slight state of dread.

"At a guess? Hmm... At a glance, my conservative estimate is somewhere around... Oh, you do better in Pounds, that's right. I'm going to estimate that your yearly income would be somewhere around a a hundred million pounds a year, the largest percentage of which coming from the french shampoo company."

Harry's head felt faint, but he held it together long enough to ask, "And the amount in the accounts already would be... about the same times ten?"

"Thereabouts, yes," Slipshard stated mildly, inwardly amused at Harry's discomfort. "Once we get access, we'll have a better view of matters."

"And that's not even counting the Evans properties. Or the Evans Trust."

"Evans Trust? What's that?"

"Apparently it's a science trust that runs through the Royal Society. It's was set up on my mum's side by some ancestor. They fund a lot of archaeology trips and the like."

"Hm. I'll have to ask around about that."

"So, does that do it for investments?" Harry asked tiredly.

"Very nearly, Mister Potter. Once we opened your money towards offers, we had two companies approach us; apparently they are aware of at least our presence on the muggle side of banking."

"And the companies are?"

"The first was International Genetic Technologies. Founded in 1975, we were approached by one John Hammond. He was quite dodgy about _exactly what_ his company actually did, but claimed it had to do something with theme parks and something called 'genetic engineering'."

"Genetic engineering is basically using science instead of magic to crossbreed things. That's about all I got about it in primary school."

"Ah. At any rate, the Gringotts seers foresaw that InGen would be at the edge of bankruptcy within two years, so we elected not to invest."

"That makes sense," Harry noted. Then asked, "Wait, seers?"

"Oh, yes. There is always room in finance for reliable seers with talent."

"Huh. I did not know that. Anyways, the other company?"

"An amalgam firm named Weyland-Yutani. And up and coming high-energy science corporation. While the seers foresaw them existing for a long, long time, something about them set me off. I kept getting the urge to have security kill their representative."

"Hey, if your instincts say not to, I'll back you one hundred percent."

"Thank you, Mister Potter," Slipshard honestly stated. "At any rate, our seers _did_ find something a little different. A company in the United States named Iridium. Apparently their goal is hand-held satellite telephones."

"Okay, that's actually really interesting."

"Actually, the truly interesting part is that the seers have forseen that they are near to declaring bankruptcy. Due to the form of bankruptcy that they see, we would have to organize a full buyout. However, I do believe that we can manage to pull this off."

"Well, a mobile satellite phone is exactly what I recommend that you invest my money into, so that makes sense. How much money are we talking?"

"In all honesty, Mister Potter, I am uncertain. Such an enterprise would not be without it's difficulties. However I am making, once more, a rough guess of about ten million galleons."

"Ten..." Harry stopped himself, regaining control. While the numbers were massive, he could at least break them down into percentages. "So, half the basilisk, check. And if the deal falls through?"

Slipshard shrugged at the question. "Apart from some comparatively minor travel fees to attend negotiations, you are out nothing. After all, it's not like we're buying in. We're not looking to _invest_ , but rather to _purchase entirely_. Once we get the details, we'll have a better view of what we're up against. Besides, any form of bankruptcy is an amazing incentive to walk away with a pocket full of gold. If dignity is included, so much the better."

"So, it's either win or out nothing. Okay, go for it."

"Mind you, Mister Potter," Slipshard stated warningly. "This will not go over well with much of Gringotts. They, much like most of Magical Britain, are firmly bound in the bedrock of the old ways."

Slipshard nearly amiled at the fire in Harry's eyes. "Yeah? Oh well. If they can't recognize a good deal when they see it, too damn bad. Will I need to arrange for a different group of investors? Or a bank in another country?"

"Hm. Most likely not. You'll get some hostile eyeing from the more old-fashioned, but since you have not brought any offense, they'll not dare act. However, I do recommend diversifying your receiving accounts a bit internationally."

"Well, okay. We'll look into that later, I guess. Anything else?"

"Not that I can think of, and you have gifted my office with much potential. We thank you, and good day, Mister Potter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter that got away from me a bit. Although at leas now I know that my difficulties yesterday were due to my keyboard frying out on me. Thankfully, my wife loaned me her spare one. It was still exhausting, thus the short set of notes.
> 
> As for this chapter, I am getting towards the end of this story arc. It still amazes me that this chapter is Day 6! Time skips should be coming soon(ish), and then I'll be better able to get towards Harry getting out of Britain.
> 
> Yes, I just made Harry obscenely rich. Between the basilisk, and Fleamont's investments, Harry really does have more than he knows. I do not, however, plan to let it go to his head. After all, he's always been accustomed to getting by on just enough. A sudden fortune will turn somebody like that into either a spender on par with rock stars, or the world's richest pauper. So I'm having Slipshard spend his money for him in the form of investments.
> 
> Please enjoy. Comments and Criticisms are always welcome!


	23. On the muggle side of matters...

After that, the days began to flow more smoothly. Roth got Whitman to sign the expedition contract, Langley began filing legal briefs, Slipshard began parting out Harry's portfolio among his team, and Dobby began pricing real estate reconstruction. Harry, for his part, conversed heavily with Nabil about the history of the House of Potter, even as he started going through more of the Blackpool house while maintaining correspondence with Neville.

He had written Ron and Hermione. He told them that he was having an eventful summer, and that he'd yet to start on his homework because other things kept needing his attentions. Some little flicker of paranoia kept him from mentioning that he was no longer with the Dursleys, or what all he'd actually been getting up to.

Ron had yet to write back, whereas Hermione's letter sympathized with him not having enough time (she was assuming it was due to his relatives), but still stressed working on his summer homework as soon as he could.

As it turned out, the attic was _packed_ with boxes. Models, miniatures, video tapes and more filled the space from floor to roof. Going through them was a lot of fun for Harry, especially now that he had most of his lists being tended to by professionals. The basement, in addition to the potions laboratory and shrunken car storage, held other rooms containing bookshelves full of car manuals, blueprints, diagrams for various magical modifications to cars, and an engine block. Harry wasn't sure, but going according to the chalkboard on the wall, Fleamont was modifying some sort of massive Pontiac engine.

Elsewhere, other things were being tended to...

15 June, 1994  
Little Whinging, Surrey

A man and a woman stood before a house that was nearly identical to the others.

"Never could stand this," Roth stated in his North Yorkshire accent. "Bloody Milton-Keynes. No soul," he explained to the woman.

"For us it's Levittowns," Laura commented. "Nearly identical houses, engineered layout. Personally, I used to live in Manhattan, but a lot of my friends live in rural Westchester. Wonderful area. Mountain foothills, beautiful countryside. Here, it's just..."

"Lifeless. Well, best to get this over with. Their neighbors will be gossiping for weeks about the scruffy man and the stacked blonde visiting."

Laura giggled a little at that. "Won't they just."

Walking up, Roth knocked on the door. A moment later, an obese teen opened the door. "Yeah?" he asked irritably.

"Good morning, sir," Laura began, smiling. "Is Petunia Dursley in? We'd like to speak to her."

With an open leer, Dudley turned, shouting, "Mum! Two people want to talk to you." And then the boy waddled into the living room and dropped into a chair.

Petunia walked out of the kitchen. "Yes? May I help you?" she asked calmly, walking towards the door.

"I'm surprised you don't recognize me, but I suppose it has been a while, hasn't it, Petunia?"

"I... Roth? Conrad Roth? Oh, it's been years!" Petunia exclaimed, a smile gracing her features. "Please, come in to the kitchen. I'll make tea. And who is your... companion?" she asked nervously.

"Petunia Dursley, this is Laura Langley. We're both here about your nephew, Harry."

Petunia's smile instantly collapsed into a sour frown as she turned to walk towards the kitchen, gesturing for them to follow. Pulling out chairs, the three sat down.

"So, Potter," Petunia began without preamble. "What of him?"

"Mrs. Dursley," Laura began, "The Potter will was only recently discovered. Late last week, as a matter of fact. Mr. Potter has retained my law office's services for the execution of it. There were two items concerning you specifically, Mrs. Dursley. The first is about your house."

"What?" Petunia demanded. "We have made every payment on time for that loan! We're now only a couple of years from paying it off! What does the boy want with our home?"

Laura blinked at that. "Actually, it's nothing like that, ma'am. The particulars of the will include loan forgiveness. From what was stated in the will, you were to pay off the house to the Potters, who bought it outright for you, and then the Potters would give you back the entirety of the money paid as a congratulatory gift."

"What?" Petunia breathed out.

"And in accordance with the particulars of the will, Harry Potter has authorized that to happen. If you'll sign here, here, and here, then I have here the original title for the house, as well as a check for the total amount, with account interest, that you and your husband have paid in."

Tears were slowly running down Petunia's face at all of this. Sniffling heavily ('Oh, that is not a pretty cry', Laura thought pettily), she signed all of the paperwork. Laura handed her the title and the check, saying, "I will file these in London this afternoon, Mrs. Dursley. Thank you for helping me get this done."

"You're welcome," Petunia choked out. "I-I need a moment. Excuse me please."

Well, that went well," Roth said. "I was thinking there'd be more screaming and accusations tossed about."

"That's because a professional demeanor can usually cut right through the bullshit," Laura replied. "She's female, so I had her intimidated and off guard; cutting through her rant was easy. If it'd been her husband, going by what I've gotten from my sources, he would've sat up and paid attention as soon as I mentioned the law firm. Your presence gives it enough familiarity to work out, and if it were her husband, you would have been the intimidation."

"Conrad Roth: professional heavy," Roth sighed out. "I should be used to it by now," he mock grumbled.

"Oh, faces on! I heard the bathroom door open."

Petunia shuffled back into the room, having cleaned up her face. Laura noted (again, pettily) that Petunia had forgone reapplying her makeup, and now looked like a time-worn middle-aged housewife, rather than her previous attempt at looking matronly.

"Thank you for this, Miss Langley," Petunia began, sitting back in the chair. "You mentioned two items in my sister's will?"

"Actually, the second item applies to me," Roth began. "You see, Harry had a list of potential guardians writ down. I was on that list. You were on the short list of people expressly listed to _not_ care for Harry."

"What? Then why did Dumbledore put him here?! I mean, I found him in a basket on the stoop alongside the milk!"

Laura and Roth looked at each other meaningfully, even as Laura was noting that down. "At any rate, like Miss Langley here said, the will just recently popped up. Harry said it was because the Potter's law firm got burned down a couple weeks before the Potters went down. The only remaining record was with the government, and, well, you know how bureaucrats can get, yeah?" Petunia nodded at that. "Therefore, Miss Langley has helped me in getting forms for Change of Guardianship in order. You sign, I sign, I take whatever Harry left here, and no more fuss."

Petunia narrowed her eyes slightly. "This... sounds off, Roth. There's something more you're not saying."

Roth frowned at that, leaning forward a little. "You mean like how I'm _pretending_ to be nice when your fat bastard of a husband turfed him out? Like how I know from what Harry _didn't_ say that his life here was utter shit? Like how I am only a couple of inches from getting the local law in on this for _child abandonment_?!

"Here's the deal, Petunia," Roth snarled out. "You sign, I sign, and Harry will never be an issue in your life again. Otherwise I come back with the coppers, and we'll see how you fare."

Petunia paled at that, but gestured for the paperwork. Ten minutes later (and glaring at Petunia to cough up Harry's various paperwork and what few possessions he'd left behind), Laura and Roth were on the sidewalk, moving towards the Land Rover.

"You know, I wasn't expecting you be be that... forceful," Laura commented, buckling herself in.

"Ah, well, I didn't see any point in mucking about," Roth admitted. Then he smirked. "Besides, I don't think Petunia remembered that the kitchen window was open. I _guarantee_ that the neighbors have something new to gossip about."

"I suppose they do," Laura mused aloud, highly entertained at it all. "So, after we get this filed, you want to go grab some drinks?" she asked, a little flirting in her voice.

"No thanks," Roth chuckled out. "I have someone I'm with."

"Damn. Married, taken, or gay, I swear."  
*****  
That evening, Roth sat in the ship's galley, going over expense paperwork and work orders when he heard the door open.

"Come over here girl. I need a word."

Lara sat down, the backs of her hands stained with oil. "What's going on Roth?"

"The bank had a word with me the other day. Harry wants you in on a personal project of his."

"What kind of project?" Lara asked. "I mean, I just do archaeology. I'm not sure what Harry would need my help with."

"Honestly, it's best you get it from him. But it does involve history, lost history. Word of warning, lass: this would be considered by many to be illegal. Harry _does_ have the right to access this, but getting there is looking a little dodgy."

"So... don't get caught?"

"Precisely," Roth smiled, utterly proud of how well he'd raised her. "The meeting's at his house in Blackpool, Sunday afternoon."

"Hm," Lara responded, frowning a little. "Blackpool's a ways. I could take the train there easily enough."

"No, girl," Roth laughed warmly. "Harry's making the arrangements for travel. Don't worry, won't take any time at all."

"Any idea what the job is about, or why it's almost illegal?"

"Break into a school, enter a chamber that only a handful of people have seen in the last thousand years, and clear it out. Harry has some _specialized_ equipment for the job.

"As for why it's illegal, well..." Roth paused, gathering his thoughts properly in case Alex or Reyes were nearby. "By all rights, the contents belongs to Harry; I'll leave that for him to explain. But it's his _boarding school_ that you'd be breaking into. Harry says he has a way, and plans, but the job calls for three people. Harry can get you in, the second one, who's already on board with the plan, is there as a specialist in his particular field. You'd be there as a historian, trying to get a feel for the place."

"A place that hasn't been seen in a thousand years, much less documented?" Lara asked, smiling impishly.

"Got it in one, lass. Also, Harry mentioned that, being a... _Croft_ and a historian, you could be the first to get a fully permitted write up published with one of the _specialized_ publishers. You getting me, Lara?"

"I think so," Lara murmured, working through Roth's particular verbal stresses. "And if I refuse?"

Roth shrugged. "Then you don't go. Simple as that. Harry thought of you because you're college educated in history and have practical experience. But if you don't like his pitch, you come back and have supper."

"But if I refuse," Lara noted, "that might cause troubles on the expedition due to mistrust,"

"Not likely Harry is going to suddenly be an issue on the expedition," Roth corrected gently. "But it _would_ make it easier for you two to cooperate on the expedition if there's some previous work history; that can be a nice building of trust between my two wards."

Lara sighed. "Fine, I'll hear him out. Who's the specialist on the job?"

"Bill Weasley. You'll meet him there on Sunday. In fact, if the contract with the bank had gone through, Weasley would most likely be accompanying us on the expedition. I've seen his CV; he's top flight, that one. A bit more on ancient history than I'd prefer, but a good record of jobs for the bank."

"Well, I guess I'll be going to Blackpool on Sunday."

"Heh. Harry wanted it to be Friday, but that's when I'm taking him to the Royal Society."  
*****  
17 June, 1994  
8:50 A.M.  
Burlington House

Harry stood out front of the impressive, centuries old historical building. He was dressed (overdressed, if anyone had bothered to ask _him_ ) in one of his Boss casual suits. Harry had spent the week trying to to think of this day, but now that it was here he just wanted it done with.

"Morning, Harry," came a familiar voice to his left. Turning, he saw Roth and Lara walking up. Lara was dressed in slacks and a nice blouse, whereas Roth was wearing a slightly rumpled suit. "We're here, so let's get this circus over with."

"Harry, relax," Lara laughed, adjusting his collar slightly. "This is just an academic place. Not a big deal. They're like me, okay? Just... older."

"Oy! Watch who you're calling 'older', ya tween!" a significantly older man leaning on a cane commented as he walked up.

"Oh, Sir Thorpe," Roth commented. "Just who I bloody well needed to deal with."

"Hush, Roth," Lara stated, interrupting what Harry could easily see as an old conversation. "How are you doing, Rupert?"

"Oh, fine, Miss Croft. Just fine."

"So, not dead enough," Roth snarked out.

"Roth! Anyways, Sir Rupert Thorpe, this is Harry Potter, the grandson of Richard Evans."

"Good morning sir. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Thorpe took the offered hand, shaking firmly it once before letting go. Harry did not miss the eyeflick towards his scar. "Mister Potter. A pleasure indeed. What's your business here? Or are you here with Roth with your hat in your hand?" he cackled towards the man, who simply rolled his eyes.

"Actually, Harry is here because of his mother's will," Lara popped in, again interrupting Roth opening his mouth. "He's here to be presented to the Society."

"Ah, I see. It may be late, but you do have my condolences, Mister Potter. Your mother was a bright girl. Took after your grandparents like that. Good luck in the shark tank, young man. The morons get political, and you'll tire of it as fast as I did. At least you have Conrad to guide you. I just had my father, and he was an ass. Just dropped me into it and walked off to hobnob."

"I really am lucky, sir," Harry commented, smiling a little. "But still, I just want this to be done. My... flatmate is making shepherd's pie tonight."

"Hm. Young to have a 'flatmate', aren't you, Potter?" Thorpe observed, even as Harry paled slightly. "Tell you what. Once the paperwork is done, have Conrad swing you by my desk. I know a few things that'll interest you.

"As for you, Miss Croft," he continued, turning towards Lara, " _you_ need to get in touch with your uncle. He's been snarling to no end about you taking up your responsibilities."

"Yes, Rupert," Lara sighed out, rolling her eyes.

Sir Rupert Thorpe limped his way into the building, as Harry asked, "So, who is he?"

"Earl Rupert Thorpe, Order of the Garter," Roth replied. "A solid guy, well connected politically. Old enough to cut through someone's officiousness without being called on it. He is, basically, one of the top dogs here. Old, rich, influential, and unwilling to piss about to get things done."

"And your relationship with him?"

Roth smirked at that. "Call it professionally taking the piss out of each other. Have done for thirty years, and I'll not stop now."

"Yes, Roth," Lara began, "but having your little pissing match _in the street_? Save it for the offices, or at least the halls, where people can laugh at you two getting on."

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was in the head office of the Royal Society of Britain, where he and Roth were filling out the paperwork.

"Roth, who do I put down as guardian?"

"Me," Roth stated with a grin. "Langley and I went to your aunt's house a couple of days ago, got her to sign you over to me. She and I went and filed the paperwork, she worked her legal magic, and it should be official by Monday. Sorry," he continued at Harry's startled expression, "I meant to tell you, but it didn't really come up until now."

"I... I see, Thanks, Roth. So, do I just put down my address, or the address that you use?"

"Your address. Care of Dobby. If he's the steward, he's eligible."

An hour later, the paperwork was done, and Harry was seated in front of a severe woman behind a desk. "Mister Potter, I am Annabelle Lockwood, the head administrator of the Royal Society. Ordinarily, I would be doing some rather invasive background checks on an individual claiming to be the 'lost heir' to one of our trust accounts, but as Conrad Roth, who is a member in good standing, is vouching for you, much of that can be dispensed with. Roth would never dare bring in a pretender, much less one so young.

"Now, I see that you have your birth record here, as well as the Potter Will. Yes, yes everything is in order there. The affidavit from Laura Langley is well fit, so that only leaves a few questions.

"First, where do you currently attend school?"

"Uhh..."

"It's alright, lad. The Statute only goes so far," Roth commented, "and most of the families here are old money enough to have records. You're fine."

Harry sighed, but decided to trust in the older man. "Hogwarts, ma'am."

"I see," she replied neutrally. "Now, ordinarily leaving such a space blank would be tantamount to fraud, but we do understand that many people in your particular place in society simply aren't informed as to just how many non-magicals actually are aware of a substantial portion of our populace. You are merely told that the lack of knowledge is forbidden, and tantamount to treason in that arena."

"Got it. I'm very sorry ma'am, but thank you for understanding."

Lockwood smiled thinly, but he could tell that it was a pleased smile, at least. "Continuing forward... Hm. Not much point in the rest of it, I suppose. I already know the whats and hows of the matter, as well as that you legally cannot put most of the information into our official records. We _do_ have members in your situation, Mister Potter. And the Royal Society predates the Statute of Secrecy. Later on, I'll have one of my assistants fill in the pertinent information and place your file in our special office for such matter. Your file up here will merely have a large amount of black marker masking certain responses."

"Thank you, ma'am. I'm relieved that there's a process for this."

"Given that you're underage, you won't have direct influence over the Evans Trust; that power will remain with the Trust Board until you turn eighteen. You will, however, get access to a small stipendary allowance should you require it. While the Trust is primarily for funding expeditions without involving the British government, it also acts as a bit of support for living expenses for the Evans family.

"We also have a number of items held in trust directly for you, Mister Potter. I'm having them brought up as we speak, and will be glad to have the space again. They are mostly files, but also a few boxes. As Conrad Roth has a vehicle, he can haul them for you.

"Last but not least is your title. You are aware that you have a hereditary title in the peerage, yes?"

"So I'm told, ma'am. Viscount."

"Precisely. Normally, this would be passed to you by your mother, but given the circumstances, this will have to pass before the Committee for Privileges and Conduct, but this will mostly be a formality with our backing. Of course, your seat in the House of Lords cannot be taken up by you until you turn twenty. It's recommended that one holds off until after their schooling is entirely complete, however you may appoint a proxy to act in your stead due to you being underage.

"That's about all of it, Mister Potter. Have you any questions?"

"Not as such, ma'am. Just... what am I supposed to do with all of this?"

Lockwood smiled gently at Harry's question. "Why, anything you like, young man. In all honesty, these days none of this means much. Oh, you'll come into some things you didn't before, and you'll have people trying to talk you into getting your proxy to vote their way. Apart from that, you have a few rights and responsibilities. I recommend speaking with your solicitor about such matters."

"She is going to talk with Duke Langley about that, ma'am."

"Oh, hell," she murmured. "Don't get me wrong, Mister Potter. Emil Langley is an excellent source of that manner of information, having come upon his title by elevation, rather than inheritance. Just be warned that Emil can be... trying. Quite trying."

"I will keep that in mind, ma'am. Thank you."

"So that's all that is required, Mister Potter," Lockwood said happily. "Thankfully, as Mister Roth is so familiar with our methods, we need only do a little paperwork. We'll be sending your information to the Committee for Privileges and Conduct; they should be writing you shortly. I do recommend that you write to the Evans Trust Board, if only to tell them that you exist and have registered with us. They will come to us for confirmation, so precious little on your end is needed. Will you be at home until Hogwarts resumes in September?"

"No, ma'am. I am investing in an exploratory expedition with Mister Roth."

"Then I presume... Yes, here it is. Dobby Potter." An eyebrow raised at that. "Dobby?"

"Err, house elf, ma'am. Also the steward managing certain things while I'm away or at school."

"Hm. Irregular, but not entirely unheard of. Very well. All of our correspondence will go to your family's steward, and that's all that anyone need know of it.

"And we're all done," she wrapped up, standing. Holding out her hand, she stated, "Welcome to The Royal Society of London for Improving Natural Knowledge. We do hope that you enjoy yourself, and we have a positive working relationship."

"Thank you, ma'am. I'm happy to be here, and hope to not mess up too badly."

"Oh, that will merely be a matter time time, young man. For comportage, I recommend following Miss Croft's example, rather than Mister Roth's. Roth is _far_ too comfortable in these halls to keep from being uncouth."

Twenty minutes later, Harry was sitting in a richly appointed office. He was seated in the corner, along with Roth and Thorpe, in overstuffed chairs.

"How are you holding up, Potter?"

"In all honesty sir, I'm faking being okay. I've had a lot thrown at me over the last week or so, and I'm still wrapping my head around it."

"Don't worry lad," Roth commented, sipping a little whisky from a tumbler. "You have good people backing you, making sure you don't have to shoulder it all."

"And then you have Roth," Thorpe dropped in. "He and I may harass each other to no end, but he's a solid man to have at your back.

"So Harry," Thorpe continued, "how well are you dealing with the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing?"

Harry closed his eyes, rubbing at his scar. "Not great. I don't like the staring, the whispers, or people randomly walking up to me on the streets. And I have no idea who started that ridiculous pile of bull. I mean, even _Dumbledore_ admitted that I lived thanks to my mum!"

"Sadly, you have had greatness thrust upon you, Potter," Thorpe commented, sipping at his brandy. "At least you're in a position to get things done about it all. So what's this about a flatmate?"

"House elf. He's been crashing at my house, and I've hired him as a steward."

Thorpe's eyebrows rose at that. "Not one of the Potter elves?"

"No, sir. Dobby is a free elf."

Thorpe blinked, than closed his eyes. Opening them, he said, "Ah, the Malfoy elf. Don't look terribly surprised, young man," Thorpe said, interrupting Harry's shocked comment. "The Malfoys have had their hands linked with the peerage for a long time. In fact, they originally stood firmly against the Statute because it threatened their influence with various royal houses.

"As far as their muggle hatred, there are some muggles they'll deign to deal with. Members of the peerage are on that list, and soon you will be as well."

"I mean, I hear things at school, but to see the real life bits, up close and personal, it's... confusing on why the professors would tell us lies like this."

Thorpe chuckled at that. "School is oftentimes where they teach the ideal of the world, what the influential _wish_ the world would be, under the excuse that children aren't bright enough to understand the reality outside their doorsteps. But no society can survive in a vacuum, no matter what Fudge and his bribers try maintaining.

"Look at it this way. You don't hear much about magicals farming, do you? One of the foundations of civilization, and the most you get on it is a class on magical gardening. But how many tons of food are consumed in Hogwarts every week? Where does it come from? Who sells it? I'll tell you who. Magical _and_ muggle farmers. Most farmers, you'd never be able to tell the difference between who is and isn't magical. Farming is farming, you see. The magicals may use less equipment, or have 'family recipe' fertilizers, but by and large, how a pig is raised doesn't change."

"I think I see where you're point is going sir. There are too many common points to simply ignore a chunk of the world."

"Actually," Thorpe laughed out, "I just got long winded there. At any rate, yes, a society cannot exist in a vacuum. Another point is that the so-called Age of Discovery had a lot of squibs in it. Oh yes, Mister Potter," Thorpe continued at Harry's expression of slow realization, "remember that non-inheriting sons were, traditionally, given to go to the military or the priesthood. For the rich and titled, they gave their non-inheriting or, for magicals, squib sons and daughters some money, and told them to go out there and make a name for themselves. Eventually, some of these squibs got together and started talking. After a while, in Britain at least, they petitioned Charles the Second to commission a Royal Charter, and the Royal Society was founded. Partially in thanks to non-inheriting sons and squibs.

"Therefore yes, Mister Potter, we _are_ aware of the Ministry of Magic, the Statute of Secrecy, and so on. We actually have dispensation from the Crown to be aware of magic, but to keep it out of our official records. Other nations have similar organizations; the Royal Society just happens to be Britain's."

"That's eye opening," Harry admitted. "I just... School is..."

"Unfortunately Harry," Roth gently interjected, "all children will eventually have to learn that school is very different from the real world. Lara caught that lesson early in life when I took her in and brought her along on expeditions. And I'm betting that you learned the hard facts about the world well before Hogwarts came 'round."

"You're not wrong, Roth. I just don't know what to do with any of this information. Seriously, staying in Britain is sounding more and more like a crap option the more I see. I mean, can I just pack up all my stuff and go? Is that an option?"

"It most certainly is, young man," Thorpe definitively stated. "Perhaps not recommended at this stage, but still an applicable option. I'm sure that you would find a way to do well in, say, New Zealand, or perhaps somewhere in the Americas. But before you jump up and begin packing, I do recommend that you wait until you're at least sixteen. Thirteen is too young for _any_ government to allow to be unsupervised.

"But look at it this way. You have a division of managers to maintain the Evans trust. Do you have people looking after the Potter stuff?"

"I do. According to the auditor, he has a whole team."

"Then more than half of your task is wrapped up," Thorpe said warmly. "Looking after something like the Trust, keeping it viable and productive, is a full time job. Those people are earning their pay. And I'm guessing that whoever you have for the Potter stuff is feeling the same way."

"I... I think I understand. Get people to handle stuff so I'm not going around the twist trying to do it myself."

"Too right, lad," Roth stated, draining his whisky. "I'd never get anything done if I had to do everything on my boat. You gave me a sound base of what you've been up to, so keep doing that. After all, you've been working hard towards getting this moving on it's own, yeah? So now that it is, let it."

"Okay. Thanks, both of you. This stuff has been climbing over me. I know I've been dealing with it, but sometimes it just feels like I forgot some little thing, and the whole thing is about to topple on me."

"You're thirteen, Potter," Thorpe chuckled out. "You have most of it covered, the rest will come when it comes. You'll be okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm. I seem to on a roll this weekend. I have to say that this mechanical keyboard is a dream to type with. It actually reminds my of when I feel in love with computing back in High School. It's just so much easier.
> 
> Time skips! Small ones at first, but I'm getting them up and running. That will make the story pass that much smoother.
> 
> As always, comments and criticisms are always welcome.


	24. Solutions, Plotting, and Scheming

18 June, 1994  
Cokeworth, Shropshire  
10:00 A.M.  
Harry was once more waiting for someone. Unlike the previous morning, he had no hopes of this being a pleasant meeting. When Hedwig had come back with the extremely short response to his letter, he only knew that he had to get this done and over with.

Knocking on the door, it swung open to reveal Severus Snape. Snape was dressed in a long sleeved button down shirt and casual slacks. "Well, Potter?" he nearly demanded.

"This is something of a personal issue, Professor," Harry stated calmly. "May I step inside?"

Snape stepped back, gesturing for Harry to come in. Closing the door, Snape commented, "I am unaccustomed to entertaining students in my home, Potter. Let's make this brief."

"I understand, sir. This," Harry continued, pulling the bequeathment page out of his pocket, "is part of the Potter will. I found it in the Ministry about a week ago. In it, you are given a house, sir. I'm here to make sure that happens."

Snape reached out, calmly taking the page from Harry. Swiftly his eyes ran over it, then flicked back up. "Is this some sort of joke, Potter?"

Harry blinked at that. "No, sir. Not sure why it would be. Could you tell me why you think it is?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "This is the house that your mother grew up in, with her parents and sister. All things considered, it makes no sense why Lily Potter would bequeath me with this."

"Honestly sir, I haven't the faintest either. And it's likely that I know even less about it than you do. I'm just trying to execute the will in the most effective way that I can. I considered having my lawyer do this, but as we know each other, I figured it would be best if did it myself."

Snape sighed, gesturing for Harry to follow him as he walked inside. Gesturing at a couch, Snape himself sat in a battered recliner. Peeking around a little, Harry could tell that this was originally a muggle house, and he was now in the living room.

"Potter, have you seen this house?"

"No, sir. I have yet to see any of the Evans properties. And as far as I'm concerned, that isn't my house. It's your house. My mum wanted you to have it as her final set of instructions, so that's what I'm doing."

"I see." Snape was silent for a little bit, his eyes going back over the document in his hand. Harry caught the very slight clenching of the jaw before being asked, "Potter, who raised you?"

"Aunt Petunia, sir."

"What." Harry was suddenly analyzing his exit strategies, as he now saw fire in the man's eyes. Then Snape's eyes closed, he inhaled once, and said, "Ah. Last week, that's right."

"Sir, is there something I should know?"

Snape's eyes snapped open. His now carefully neutral expression let nothing slip. "Potter, your mother and I grew up as friends in primary school. Your aunt detested me, as she saw me as a rival for your mother's time. I was the one who told your mother that her 'little miracles' were actually magic. I told her of the Ministry, and of Hogwarts. We boarded the Express together, and then were sorted into different houses.

"During our fifth year, some... words were spoken between us, and we parted ways for good. I had thought her well shot of me, but this... this tells me that I spent many years incorrectly assuming matters."

"I see. Thank you for explaining that, sir."

"What do I need to do, Potter?"

Out of his pocket, Harry pulled out several forms. "These are all of the change of ownership forms that I had my lawyer draw up for this. I've already signed my bit, so you just have to sign where it's highlit, sir."

Snape did so, harry passed out each other's copies. "Before I go, sir, I would ask one small favor."

"You may, Potter."

"If there's anything in the house that is exclusively Evans, would you be so kind as to box it up and set it aside for me?"

"Define 'exclusively Evans'."

"Photographs, old letters, that sort of thing. I... I still don't know what either set of my grandparents looks like. Hell, I only found out what my _parents_ looked like during my first year at Hogwarts. Would you do that for me sir?"

"Yes, Potter," Snape softly responded. "I will do that. And thank you for this. It... means more to me than you can ever properly know."

Harry spent the rest of the day going through the boxes and files that he'd gotten from the Royal Society. There were a couple of deeds, a massive keyring, and a bunch of what appeared to be businesses involving a few different firms.

Harry was beginning to wonder if he needed find a different way to manage his many inherited investments than Gringotts could provide.  
*****  
June 19, 1994  
Potter Townhouse, Blackpool  
2:17 P.M.

Lara gasped as she appeared on a large entryway. The little person who'd transported her had spoken oddly, but formally. The transit itself had been _very_ unusual.

"Welcome to Potter Townhouse, Missy Croft," Dobby stated, bowing slightly.

"Thank you, Dobby," she responded dully, marveling at how smooth the transit was. Peeking out the window alongside the door, she could see the unmistakable view of Blackpool's South Pier. "What... what _was_ that that we did?"

"Wizards call it Apparating. We elveses call it popping."

"Elves?" she asked, a hair of incredulity snaking into her voice.

Dobby seemed to smirk a little as he snapped his fingers. Within a second, his features melted away to reveal a short fellow with huge eyes and pointed ears. "Yes, miss. Elves. Dobby is a house elf, miss."

"Right. Okay." Lara was off-center, but she was a _Croft_ , she reminded herself. "So, where's Harry?"

"Harry Potter sir is in the top floor board room, miss. Please to follow Dobby."

Two flights of stairs later, she heard two voices.

"I'm telling you, Harry. I think you're going overboard on the prep on this."

"I disagree, Bill. I mean, I remember what I saw the second time. What if we find a small library stashed in a side panel? What if we find something _worse_ than a basilisk? What if the water drains out to reveal a sunken city? We just don't _know_ , and it's better to be prepared."

As she stepped into the room, she saw Harry gesturing at diagrams on an antique chalkboard with a pointer, while a good looking redhead was sitting at the table arguing with him. A low box full of sand covered most of the table, and several sheets of what appeared to be _parchment_ of all things littered the outer edges of the table along with quills and inkwells.

"I can't disagree with you, Harry," Bill replied with a touch of heat. "But there's being prepared, and then there's paranoid. What you're talking is clearly crossing that line."

"And I'm saying that just because you're paranoid, it doesn't mean they aren't out to get you. Granted, I already had my yearly 'Kill Harry Potter Day', so I'm due some rest. But it's better to be prepared."

"And I'm saying that you went _way_ too overboard on that bag. I mean, Harkin's good, but I didn't know that he could make the bag take tank shells!"

Harry rolled his eyes at that. "It's only two before the bag ruptures, and the wearer wouldn't survive being splattered by the sudden acceleration, Bill. Don't be so dramatic."

"Am I interrupting something?"

Both men turned, staring at her blankly for a moment. And then Harry burst into a smile. "Hey, Lara! Any troubles getting here?"

"No, it was very smooth. First time teleporting, though."

The redhead chuckled at that. "Elf travel is always smoother than apparating. First time you get properly side-along apparated, you'll be violently ill. I was, Harry was, and I can't think of anyone who _wasn't_."

"Personally, I'm glad to hear it," Harry commented. "Dobby wasn't sure how you not having magic would work out, but it seems like everything went okay.

"Oh, manners! Lara Croft, this is Bill Weasley. Bill, this is Lara."

The two smiled, shaking hands as they visually sized each other up. Sitting down, Lara started off the conversation. "Roth told me there was a job that you had and thought of me for?"

"Yup," Harry answered, popping the 'p'. "Being from a squib family, you are mostly unaware of the magical world, but eligible to be made aware of. Therefore this is a legend that, while common in Magical Britain, you would never have heard of."

"The legend, and I'll tell it because Harry doesn't know the unadulterated legend," Bill interrupted, side-eyeing Harry, who rolled his eyes mockingly and sat in his own chair, "is that the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had four founders. At some point after the founding and starting of the school, one founder named Salazar Slytherin had a falling out with the other founders. The legend claims that he wanted to limit the school to only allow those who came from pre-established magical families. This created some sort of massive rift, causing Slytherin to build a hidden, secondary headquarters to the castle."

"About when did this happen?" Lara asked curiously, a notebook and pen already in hand.

"It's not exact," Bill shrugged out, "but it's estimated somewhere between 1000 and 1100 AD. Anyways, scholars have searched for what came to be called The Chamber Of Secrets ever since, but none of them found it."

"In 1943," Harry picked up, "a student named Tom Marvolo Riddle found it. It was later determined that he had the best claim to the bloodline of Slytherin, and since he could talk to snakes, he was pretty much automatically accepted as 'The Heir of Slytherin'. He opened the Chamber, subtly unleashing what was called 'The Monster of Slytherin' into the school. There were several petrifications, and one death. Another student was framed over that. Tom Riddle has been pronounced dead since late 1981.

"In late 1992, on Halloween, the Chamber was reopened, petrifying a cat. There were several petrifications over the course of the school year, until someone claiming to be the 'Heir of Slytherin' kidnapped Bill's little sister.

"Her brother Ron, me, and the defense professor ended up having to enter the Chamber to rescue her in late May of 1993. I won't go into detail, but Ron and the professor got stuck behind a cave in, and I went in and... dealt with the situation," Harry wrapped up, his teeth grinding even as his left thumb worried at just below his right elbow.

"Okay, that's some good background," Lara admitted, scanning over her notes. "So why am I needed on this? For that matter, what even is this about?"

Harry sighed, fiddling with a small vial on the table. "Slytherin's monster was a thousand year old basilisk. I killed it with lots of help, shed-tons of luck, and a sword. The corpse is still down there, and it's _valuable_. Like, a couple hundred million Pounds, valuable. The goblins at the bank Gringotts have agreed to sell the corpse on commission; they'd know best on how to harvest it, and then sell it without flooding the market.

"I'm here because the thing is mine by magical Right of Conquest, and because I am the only living person in Britain who can open up the Chamber. Bill is here partially as a Gringotts representative, and partly because we plan to do an intensive examination of the Chamber in exchange for unrestricted access for Bill to whatever information we find there. I mean, if this was Slytherin's hidden headquarters, there should be an evil kitchen, a wicked bedroom, and possibly a cursed loo, right?" Lara giggled at that, even as Bill grinned at the humor.

"So, Bill is in on this as a trained cursebreaker. If there's something new, he's there to figure out what it means, and how dangerous it it. I'm here because I'm a parselmouth, someone who can speak with snakes, and all the doors are activated in the language.

"Lara, I'd like you in on this because you're properly trained in historical study. Of the three of us, you're the only one trained to look at a wall and figure out the historical significance. You're the kind of person who'll look at a pillar and figure out what era it's from, and what it's influences were." At Lara's impressed look, Harry blushed slightly, saying, "I may have been doing some basic reading."

"Alright, I can see everyone's roles in this. Roth mentioned that you had specialized equipment for this... caper?"

Harry smiled at that, even as Bill groaned. "I recently commissioned a magic bag. Bigger on the inside, like the TARDIS. Not as big, but it's pretty much a mansion that can't be detected when I'm inside it."

"And it can apparently take a hit from a tank?" Lara asked smirkingly.

"Heard that, did you? Well, voices _do_ carry in here," Bill commented, grinning at Harry. "I've been inside it. Trust me, it's huge. It's a house built to the interior size of a small military airplane hangar. Plenty of rooms for stowing the plunder."

"I see. And how do you plan to get in and out, Harry? Plus, I can't imagine a basilisk is a small thing."

"Wizards have something called a Portkey," Bill said. "They're normally used for large group transit, or if there's a public event. Being highly regulated by the Ministry, figuring out how to get, say, 100,000 people to one area becomes a lot easier. Honestly, it's a lot like air traffic control in that respect. In fact, the Ministry is already preparing hundreds of international portkeys for the Quidditch World Cup coming up in August. My dad works there, and is constantly hearing about the calculations."

"The basilisk is eighty feet long," Harry slid in. "From what little I've been able to pick up, attachable portkeys have what I'm calling a 'field range effect'. It means that the transport effect only reaches so far out, yeah?" Bill and Lara nodded their understanding. "However, if we use an _internal_ portkey, like a spike driven in between the scales, it should drag along _everything_ attached to the basilisk, hauling the entire thing out."

Lara frowned at that. "Wait, you say it's been dead over a year, right? How is it not falling apart from rot?"

"There's a thing about basilisks," Bill commented. "Their flesh is so toxic that not even microbes will touch it for at least three years. Rats and other vermin won't go near it. As far as some species are concerned, the thing's been down there _aging_. Once the meat gets to a certain point, the toxicity scales back sharply, allowing certain species to safely eat the stuff. A year is nothing, really."

"Okay, that makes sense," Lara mused out, looking over her notes. "What about us? How do we three get in and out?"

"For out, we grab the basilisk and ride the portkey," Harry commented, grinning. "As for in, I have a cunning plan."

Bill and Lara both groaned, with Bill saying, "Harry, I've got to talk to Dobby about weaning you off the telly."

"He's not wrong," Lara agreed. "Rowan Atkinson can pull that off. You..."

"What?" Harry asked, mock-incredulously. "That's classic sitcom stuff! How was that not funny?" The pair began opening their mouths, so Harry cut them off, saying, "No, I have an _actual plan_.

"First part of the plan involves Bill with a disillusionment charm and me with an invisibility cloak. There are a number of secret passages into Hogwarts, and with the Marauder's Map we can see if anyone, living or dead, is anywhere near us." A minute later of demonstration of both items, and Harry continued. "I'm figuring we take one of the passages in, make it to the Second Floor Girls Loo, open the Chamber entrance, and close it behind us. With any luck, we won't run into anything unplanned. At worst we'll run into Moaning Myrtle, who was the basilisk's first kill in 1943. She also seems to have a thing for me," he ended, blushing slightly.

Bill smiled at Harry's discomfort, saying, "As for equipment, we're arranging multiple portkeys. Because portkeys are so heavily regulated, tracking one is simple for the Ministry, and an outgoing portkey would draw the Headmaster's attention instantly. However, if we set off a few dozen, it'll muddy the trail long enough for the skinners to get the carcass someplace else. Besides, with all of the portkeys being created right now, it's inevitable that some will accidentally activate off schedule. Right now is an excellent time for this sort of move."

"And that's only if I can't get the school ward scheme to adjust for me," Harry cut in. "I also managed a Right of Conquest claim on Riddle. It appears that, while stripping him of his title as Heir of Slytherin, I became the Head of the Slytherin Line. _In theory_ , the Hogwarts wards should respond to me, if I can figure out how."

"Right, got it. Get in invisibly with a map that sees everyone, get into the chamber, attach the portkey inside of it, and then examine the chamber at our leisure?" Bill and Harry nodded at the summation. "So, is there any sort of forewarning? Some diagrams or something?"

Harry grinned at that. "I am so happy you asked, because Bill has been bugging me about the sandbox."

Lara frowned in confusion. "It's obviously a military sandbox." At Bill's confused look, she explained, "Militaries across the globe have used this as a means of planning battles for milennia. With a little planning, damp sand can be pushed into hills, and little model buildings and figurines are used to simulate local conditions and battle formations."

"Exactly correct," Harry stated, still grinning. "This one was invented by an innovative young goblin named Gobrot. What it can do is take a modified memory," he stated, holding up the tiny vial he was fiddling with earlier; Lara could just make out some sort of silvery filament inside, "and recreate a section of the memory by manipulating the sand."

Harry opened up a panel on the side of the box, rolling in the vial. Closing the panel, almost instantly the sand began to reform into the low, vaulted ceiling of the Chamber of Secrets. Toward Harry's end, it opened up vertically where Salazar's statue rested level with the 'water'. There, in front of the statue, lay a massive snake, also made of sand.

"I am so investing in this," Harry muttered. "As you can see, the whole of the Chamber, as seen by me a little over a year ago, is right here. Now, to expand a section, adjust like so..."

Fifteen minutes later, Lara was back in her chair in awe. The level of detail was astounding, if slightly grainy (if the pun can be pardoned), and Lara managed many, many notes as Harry worked the controls, separating the 'roof' from the walls.

"Alright, I see what we're doing," Lara admitted. "So my role is historical archiving. I mean no offense, Harry, but what's in this for me?"

Harry smiled at that. "I was thinking that you'd get exclusive rights to document and publish the details of the mythical Chamber of Secrets. And since I seem be heavily invested in a few magical printing houses, you'd have guaranteed publishing. I'm sure we can work out a royalties contract. Since you are a member of a known squib line, you're exempt from being affected by the Statute of Secrecy, making all of this perfectly by the book legal."

"In addition," Bill added, "you would be able to establish your credentials on both sides of the magical divide. On one hand, you two are heading to Yamatai, if you can find it, which is a major muggle undertaking, and carries tons of academic credibility if you can find and document it. On the other hand, you'll have documented the Chamber of Secrets for the magical community. To put it into perspective, the legend of the Chamber of Secrets is up there with the legends of Avalon. Photographs, translations, and so on would hammer in your reputation, and people like my bosses would be offering you work documenting magical areas even as people like me disarm traps laid four thousand years ago."

Lara let her gaze go blank, still resting on the sand-hewn Chamber of Secrets. Harry and Bill both raised excellent points. And as someone who had only recently gotten her Doctorate, this would be an unparalleled opportunity to properly make her initial mark on the world.

"Alright, I'm in," she finally stated.

"Fantastic," Harry replied, smiling. "All that's left is the details and dates, right?"

"I will need equipment," Lara commented. "Cameras, video, audio recorders with tapes, that sort of thing."

Bill and Harry looked at each other with concern. "Actually," Bill began, "electronic devices tend to short out very quickly under Hogwarts' wards. We cursebreakers believe that it's something about the castle itself, because other magical sites don't share this. I mean, the Ministry of Magic is in Whitehall, and there isn't a massive blackout zone there.

"In all honesty, we're hoping that Harry can manipulate the wards enough to adjust not only the sensory wards for portkeys, but also the limiters on electronics. But until we get to that point, it's film cameras, dictaquills, and magical recorders. Those can be easily gotten in Diagon Alley. Oh, that's the primary magical marketplace in Britain," Bill explained at Lara's questioning expression.

"I see. Hmm. Wait," Lara paused, relaxing a little as she flexed what Roth called her 'instincts'. Instantly, the sandbox lit up, as well as several items on the bar, and the windows.

Bill's eyes snapped up as he shot to his feet, wand instantly in hand. Meanwhile, Harry found himself sliding back to the wall, even as Dobby popped in, hands up as if warding something off.

"Sir, where be the house elf?" Dobby demanded. "Dobby sensed house elfy kind of pulse."

"Actually, I think Lara did that," Harry commented, inwardly warmed by Dobby's concern.

"Wait, that was you?" Bill asked, wand still in hand.

"Umm, yes," Lara admitted, staring at their reactions. "It's a trick Roth coached me in. How to use and trust my instincts. I can sometimes sense things of significance."

"Bloody hell," Bill swore, sitting back down. As Harry went back to his chair after reassuring Dobby, Bill said, "We cursebreakers use a similar sensory extension technique. By pushing our magic into our auras, we can sense the interactions between ourselves and magical effects around us. But I've never heard of one reaching so far."

"Dobby has," the house elf chimed in. "Dobby uses the exact thing to sense for magics of all sorts. An old house elf technique for finding ward stones and breaking things."

"It's true," Harry added. "Dobby used it when we first came here, and it outlined the entire house."

"Wait. If you can do that..." Bill stopped, considering this. "If you can do this much, you may not be as much of a squib as we thought."

"What?" Lara asked, absolutely confused. "I don't understand."

Bill sighed, saying, "I'm not expert, but I have heard some things. Usually, magical children growing up have bouts of what we call 'accidental magic'. Basically, it's subconscious manipulation of emotionally driven magic. It's how the Ministry absolutely determines who is and isn't magical in children under the age of eleven.

"However, occasionally a child comes along in a magical family and shows no signs of that. So they're labeled a squib, and are usually fostered out to the muggle world to provide them with a lifestyle that they don't have to resent. But sometimes, very rarely, someone identified as a squib will show magical abilities late in life. We call them 'late bloomers'. My mum has a cousin who's a squib, and she prays that, eventually, he'll show signs of magic.

"The late bloomer thing is what I believe you are, Lara," Bill continued. "I'm guessing that Roth played a hunch, and ended up teaching you some unusual things to harness what little magic you might possess. However, the kind of magical pulse we just saw indicates a flow of magic _far_ greater than any high-end squib can pull off. Yes, there are a few squibs out there that have just enough power to fuel a couple of basic spells before becoming exhausted. Again, rare. But what you just did was something even senior cursebreakers would struggle to pull off."

"That's... an odd way to put that."

"It's not bad or good. It's just a little different. Granted, I haven't the faintest of what else you might be able to do," Bill admitted, "but the fact is that you can at least use _some_ magic."

"That works out really well," Harry interrupted. Bill and Lara turned to see Harry, his head at eye level with the sand copy of the Chamber of Secrets. "If Lara can do this kind of ranged sensing, and we can both see it because we're magical, then she can pulse the Chamber and hopefully ferret out stuff we can't see."

"Good point. Well, looks like we all have a solid plan," Bill commented, pulling up his own notes. "So tomorrow we hit up Diagon for some gear, and go over the plans. When do we want to get this done?"

"I'm not sure," Harry admitted. "Ideally, it would be when Dumbledore is out of the castle, but who knows when he leaves?"

Bill blinked at that, and then snapped his fingers, saying, "Wizengamot meeting is on the 22nd, and the ICW summer session begins on the 24th. Since Dumbledore chairs both, he'd have to be gone at least until the ICW lets out for their summer session. That ends... I want to say August fifth. So we'd have more than a month starting Friday of Dumbledore being far away from ward alerts. Or at least too far to be able to do anything about them."

"So, next weekend?" Lara asked. The two men nodded. "Sounds good. And I can't wait to see this 'magical marketplace' tomorrow. Should I wait for Dobby to pick me up again at the ship?"

Harry shrugged at that. "You could sack out here. I have spare bedrooms. I can ask Dobby to pop you over to the ship, you grab a few things, and we head over to Diagon together in the morning. Once we're done you can easily catch the tube to a spot near the docks, or have Roth pick you up."

"Harry already offered me a room to make this stuff easier. I've been staying at the bank's barracks because it's better than being at The Burrow with everyone but Charlie there. Ah, The Burrow is my parents' house," Bill explained to Lara.

"I was there the summer of 1992," Harry added. "Eight people, one bathroom."

Lara cringed at that before saying, "I'll go ahead and stay here then. And if I can send a message to Roth, I can just pick up a couple of things here in Blackpool. What all is open on a Sunday?"

"Quite a lot," Bill admitted, beginning to organize the many pages of notes. "Harry went out with a friend last Sunday and bought a bunch of stuff, and my family has gone on holiday here a couple of times. Maybe you and I can go and see what's out there? Grab a bite and a drink while we're out?"

Lara smiled slightly at the thinly veiled flirting (even as she watched it fly right over Harry's head). "I'd like that. Thank you, Bill. What about you, Harry? Can I pick you up anything while we're out?"

"No thanks," Harry replied, pulling the vial out of the sandbox as the sand 'sculpture' collapsed. "Dobby and I managed to get everything we needed over this past week. And since the house is wired, we have a radio and telly. Thank goodness my ancestor wired the South Pier in such a way that he could siphon electricity from the Pier grid. So I'll just be going through the boxes in the attic."

"That sounds lovely, Harry."

"By the way, have either of you ever heard of something called Warhammer? Or Warhammer 40,000? Because I have a _ton_ of those model kits and figurines upstairs."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the beginning portion of this done last weekend, but ran out of time to get the rest done until today.  
> Here is my explanation for Lara's senses in this particular universe. I felt that it made perfect sense. Also, the first tentative pairing!  
> Comments and Criticisms are, as always, welcome.


	25. Preparations Part 1

June 20, 1994  
Potter Townhouse, Blackpool  
7:34 A.M.

Bill descended the stairs, making towards the kitchen, as well as the delicious aroma of expertly brewed coffee wafting from it. Bill may have been British and raised on tea, but he had converted to coffee rather quickly after moving to Israel.

He did reflect that he had deeply enjoyed the night before, and regretted that the expedition contract had originally fallen through. He and Lara had gotten along really well, and once their shopping for odds and ends was finished, they had flitted from stand to stand, from bar to bar, comparing notes on everything from upbringing (The Burrow versus Croft Manor), personal traumas (Richard Croft's suicide versus the deaths of the Prewett twins), and even schooling (University versus Cursebreaker Guild). Now that Bill and Lara had a definitive understanding of each other, he was not looking forward to her being gone for a month or two, even though he knew that, in time, he'd end up doing the same thing for Gringotts.

As he swung open the kitchen door, he saw Harry sitting at the table, nabbing from a tray of pastries even as he made some notes in a binder.

"Morning Harry. You mind?" Bill asked, gesturing at the coffee pot.

"Help yourself," Harry replied, not looking up as he scribbled down something.

"So, Diagon today?"

"Mm-hmm. Need to hit there for supplies for the Chamber run, as well as some of the stuff you mentioned for Yamatai. You up for a couple of questions, Bill?"

Bill sipped at his coffee, letting the caffeine begin doing it's work. "I'm a morning person, so yeah."

"How far along is the vault testing thing that I brought up to Gringotts?"

Bill shrugged at that. "Almost done with the categorying of magical signatures," Bill admitted. "There are some international and extremely deep vaults that haven't been recorded yet, but they should be done by the end of the week."

"So it's ready for testing?" Harry asked, his eyes flicking up to meet Bill's.

"Should be, yeah. What's your idea?"

"Lara. Get her tested, see if there's a Croft vault down there. Since we know she's more than a squib, I'm thinking she's eligible."

Bill blinked at that. "I hadn't thought of it like that, but the idea is sound. And testing on a member of a known squib line would be a great first test."

"Wonderful," Harry commented absently. "I'm thinking that the Diagon trip will be pretty heavy. How are your shrinking charms?"

"They're good. Although we could just use your bag. That way we won't have to repack and unpack everything."

"Good point. I'm thinking that we'll want this done and dusted, so Saturday?"

"I was thinking Friday night. It's almost guaranteed that the castle will be damn near empty, especially so close to school being out. I remember that Hagrid tends to go drinking on weekends, and rumors flew about the staff commonly being seen in various pubs over the weekends when I was in school."

"Friday night then. Sounds great. Sorry if I seem pushy; I just want this done," Harry apologized, scrubbing at his face with a hand.

"It's fine, Harry," Bill smiled out. "Our teams get like that in the field. We just want to get the planning and waiting stages done so we can get to work. Nothing new there, yeah?"

"Good, good. Anyways, Dobby will be hitting up Gringotts for a muggle identity so he can get the phone hooked up here, and I'm meeting with Slipshard and Healer Morgan. I guess it's down to you to show Lara around Diagon."

Bill refilled his mug, smirking. "Oh no," he sarcastically began, "I have to show a beautiful, intelligent woman around a magical shopping district. Alas, poor me. How ever will I manage?"

"Wait, I think I missed something," Harry admitted.

Bill chuckled at the clearly confused boy. "It's the Wands and the Cauldrons, Harry." Bill frowned at Harry's deepening confusion. "Um, the Birds and the Bees?"

"Ohhhh! Wait, what did I miss? You two just met yesterday."

"Relax, Harry. Nothing like that. Basically, Lara and I went out, had a few bites and some drinks over conversation. I think we flew in around midnight; thanks for the spare key, by the way.

"It turns out we have a lot in common," Bill continued, snagging himself a pastry, "so last night was basically a first date. Today will be a second one. A working date, more or less. And since that psycho Morgan will be examining you, you'll be in the bank for a while."

"Wait, psycho? Healer Morgan got really intense, but nothing like that."

Bill cringed a little at his slip. "Sorry, it's a thing. Morgan has a reputation, Harry. She's a hell of a healer _and_ doctor, but piss her off and you might as well top yourself; it'd be less painful. I've heard stories of how she makes the Cruciatus pale in comparison, and if she pulls out her stun rod... Let's just say that 'bone ignition' is an actual thing."

"Fuck," Harry spoke nervously. "What the hell have I gotten into?"

"Probably good things," Bill admitted, now regretting scaring Harry. "Morgan is one hell of a good physician, and is neurotic enough to make sure every bit of her craft is addressed. If she fully diagnoses you, your treatment will be among the finest in the world, if unconventional. She's a perfectionist, and her work shows it. You have nothing to worry about, Harry."

"Right. No point getting worked up, got enough on my plate already," Harry muttered, making a couple of notes. "Besides, Slipshard won't let anything bad happen."

"Oh, Slipshard is the happiest goblin I've ever seen," Bill admitted. "You piled an auditor with enough work for him to get assigned his own team, mate. That's a huge promotion, lots of prestige. Granted, there's mutterings from the upper sections of Finance that he should be shunted back to Audits to make room for someone more... _deserving_. That just means that there are some really jealous goblins who want what he has. Don't worry, Harry. The percentage you're bringing Gringotts is _more_ than enough to make them want to keep you happy.

"Add in the vault thing, and you've almost handed them back something they've been angling for since the bank's founding: a return of the Goblin Nation. Yes Harry," Bill admitted to the poleaxed teen, "once your vault idea goes fully forward, suddenly muggleborns will have proper access to the finances of Magical Britain. Those muggleborns will remember how well Gringotts treated them, and suddenly there's a lot of money in circulation going towards goodwill on behalf of the bank. Get the graduated Hogwarts witches and wizards taking those tests, and suddenly there's a _lot_ of fiscal force being used to balance the law books. 

"Seriously, I've been overhearing a lot of the more political goblins talking about the potential. The lower caste personnel are talking about breaking out the swords and armor, while some of the managers have been meeting in the lunch rooms about the long term ramifications. And of course, people like me get dragged into their chats. Human witches and wizards have a valued opinion. And a few of us have family that work in the Ministry, so our views are fairly significant.

"Add to that the word getting out properly, and suddenly there's an influx of muggleborns who left the magical world, or just Britain, and the Ministry won't know how to react. On the face of it, they'll be absolutely tickled to have access to all that tax revenue. But once these _very worldly_ magicals start pushing financial weight around, a lot of the bigoted pureblood families are going to start getting shut out.

"And _that_ isn't counting the number of muggleborns who, through being descendants of squibs, are suddenly in command of some pureblood house's finances by right of primogeniture. Heh. Can you imagine Lucius Malfoy's expression when he's told that he is no longer in command of the Malfoy fortune, all because his great-grandfather exiled a squib son or daughter?"

By this point, Harry's forehead was on the table, his eyes closed. "Did I accidentally screw over the entirety of Magical Britain with my idea?"

"Probably," Bill replied mildly, as if he'd just been asked if it was going to rain. "And that's _nothing_ compared to the fallout of if we can get your genealogy side-project up and running. We get that going, and _entire lineages_ are being rewritten. And thanks to the standing legislation, neither the Ministry or the Wizengamot can do a damn thing about it. Purebloods have _always_ kept the government out of what they call 'internal House business'. If the Ministry tries to interfere, department heads are getting fired. Seriously, it'd end up being a damn near new Ministry from the ground up.

"In short, you have, almost singlehandedly, completely rewritten the political landscape of Magical Britain. What will you do for an encore?" Bill asked, his coffee mug hiding his smirk.

"Beats me," Harry groaned out, finally picking his face up off the table. "At this rate, I may end up accidentally starting the Magical Monarchy of Britain."

Bill chuckled at that. "You probably won't even know what's happening before you catch someone trying to put a crown on your head."

"Can it at least wait until _after_ I get back?" Harry mockingly whined out. "I mean, being crowned would probably cut into my expedition time."

They both had a good laugh at that, before Harry sobered. "One last question Bill. Do you have any idea why your mum is treating me like family? I mean, she sent me a Weasley Sweater for Christmas in my first year at Hogwarts. After saving Ginny, I can get that. But before?"

"I can make a few guesses, Harry," Bill said, setting his mug down. "Bear in mind that this is all guesswork and observation, okay?

"You're too young to remember, but I _grew up_ during the War. I remember Mum's brothers getting killed when I was six or seven; I remember the news reports over the wireless. Most of all, I remember the fear. Nobody could say You-Know-Who's name because of the Taboo; say his name, and suddenly a dozen Death Eaters would appear, firing curses for the 'disrespect'. Charlie and I couldn't go to the Lovegood's house without an escort, and the Rookery is only a couple of miles from the Burrow. The Diggory's were constantly flooing around doing damage control; they were both reserve Obliviators during the war. Dad wasn't a department head yet, but he was still constantly out there getting stuff done for the Ministry.

"Odds are that Ron wrote Mum about what he saw about you, and Mum wouldn't let an orphan down. Ron and the Twins having to pull bars off your window the next summer didn't help, and the tales about the muggles you lived with probably made the idea stick. Odds are pretty high that once she finds out you got kicked out of that house, she'll want to move you in to the Burrow to be around a sane family. You know, for a given value of 'sane'," he finished with a smirk.

"Okay, I guess I can sort of see that. I mean, the summer I was there I gave Mr. Weasley money for food. I didn't want to be a burden or anything, so I handed him some Galleons for my room and board."

"And Dad appreciated it," Bill admitted. "Dad writes me and Charlie regularly to keep us up to speed. Wrote that he was impressed at your fairness, not to mention how polite you were after being raised by jerks."

"I just tried to be a decent guest," Harry demurred, shrugging slightly.

"At any rate, today," Bill stated, getting back on topic. "You're seeing Slipshard and Morgan. Lara and I can handle getting the gear for the Chamber if you get me the money for it. Oh, and you'll want to visit my department; I'm fairly sure that the head will want to talk to you about the job you hired them for."

"Right, I forgot about that," Harry admitted, flipping through his binder. "I can do that. Hit there, and then meet Slipshard."

"And after Gringotts, I can show you the magical stuff my department uses in the field. Well, the non-proprietary stuff, anyways. For the muggle stuff, talk to Roth; he knows best for that kind of stuff. However," Bill continued, holding up a finger, "I do recommend that you take the time today to get your glasses updated and get a good pair of boots. Since you'll be in the Alley anyways, it's a good time to get it done."

"Argh. Yeah, you're right. Oh, before I forget, I wanted your opinion on something. Your brother Charlie, he's a dragon keeper, right?"

"Yup. Went to Romania straight out of Hogwarts. As in he got off the Express and activated the portkey to Romania. Mum threw a wobbler, almost screamed herself mute, from what the twins told me."

"Well, something's been niggling at the back of my head. Slipshard and I were talking investments, and he mentioned that one of the non-magical agents of Gringotts had been approached by... Crap, I can't remember his name. Company called International Genetics or something. Anyways, the guy was looking for an investor. Slipshard said it was something that involved genetic engineering and theme parks."

"What's genetic engineering?" Bill asked, his face blank in confusion.

"I think it's the muggle version of magical creature cross-breeding. That's about all I got of it in primary school," Harry admitted. "Anyways, do you think that Charlie would be interested in at least checking this out on my behalf? Slipshard said that the company probably wouldn't survive out of bankruptcy in a few years, but something about it makes me _really_ want to know what it's all about. And I'll pay for the expenses and his time."

Bill nodded. "I can ask him. All else fails, he'll just have a boring vacation of not being burned to a crisp. I know he's coming to Britain in August for the Quidditch World Cup, but I'll write him and ask."

Two hours later, the three were finally in Diagon Alley, having been apparated there by Bill and Dobby. Bill easily vanished the vomit and cleaned him up before Harry headed to the bank. Dobby was ushered off to Foreign Services, while the three humans hit up the Cursebreaker Office.

"Mister Potter!" the aged cursebreaker with the fly-away hair exclaimed. "Good, good. Sit! Now, I sent some people to investigate this shack of yours. They found some items of note that your elf missed. Not that I'm blaming him," he paused, snapping up a hand," I'm just saying that there were things he likely wasn't aware to be on watch for. I won't say that his visual diagram of the various magical lines was inaccurate, merely incomplete."

"How so?" Bill asked, subtly gesturing for Lara to get a little closer.

The man tapped his wand on a stone plate, and almost instantly an image of a decrepit, ancient house appeared, followed by many multi-colored lines. "As you can see, The blue lines are sensory, the reds are commands for the green line curses, the yellows are delayed effects for spells. Internal traps when a trespasser is in the perimeter. The mauve lines are to be herbological magics, and the bright purple ones are some sort of language-based bypass. I am guessing that those require a certain language to be used as command words."

"Parseltongue," Harry instantly spoke up. "This belonged to Voldemort. You'll need a someone who can talk to snakes for that."

"Ah-ha! Brilliant! Unfortunately, I know of no such speakers in Britain today..."

"Me," Harry sighed out, rubbing at his scar. "I'm a Parselmouth. What will I need to do?"

The head of the department blinked at that, then grinned manically. "Let us keep running scans of the magical lines, and we _should_ be able to make out the list of the commands. Later I'll have you brought by to start bypassing a lot of this.

"Anyways, your elf sensed a dark artifact," he continued, winking at Harry about that, ", but my crew discovered a few other things. First is that the ancient chimney is floo active, and apparently still connected. That _would_ be a potential hole in the defenses, except that it is almost definitely trapped. However, we could floo through some items for remote activation from within. 

"The second is that, thankfully, the caster was never a Guild trained cursebreaker. The nearly fossilized snake on the front door is easily disarmed; it is enchanted to summon various region-native vipers. The herbological activators are nearly gone due to time and weather, simplicity to negate. Quite basic, really only effective against the impatient and untrained.

"The only real threats are the internal curses, the red line ones. Sensory lines can be diverted, and the activators rely almost exclusively on input from them. Weasley! Your analysis?"

Bill stepped up, circling slowly around the image. "Dome-type ward scheme, ground flush. Too much vegetation and random animal activity to warrant any sensors beneath the soil. Burrowing is an option, as is the floo; aerial insertion is straight out, unlike tube-type schemes.

"Personally, I'd recommend dealing with the plants and snake first. Easy stuff, it all appears unlinked to... No, the Parseltongue secondary linkages are here and here. Try to snap those outer defenses, all of the inner wards come up to power," Bill continued, pointing at the colored lines with a finger. "Harry will need to manually power down the Parseltongue lines before a team can advance to the outer defenses. And that's only if he can't just fool the master override commands into thinking he's You-Know-Who.

"After that, yeah, sensory lines diverted, command lines subverted, and, in theory, that should keep the rest of the curses from firing. In all honesty," he wrapped up, looking at Harry and Lara, "this is a pretty basic warding scheme. The only real problems are the density of the layers and the language requirement. We've come across these before in the Phoenician tombs outside of Tyre. Those were designed to last for milennia, whereas I am estimating that this one would collapse on it's own within a century."

"Very good, Weasley! Now, if we can get Mr. Potter there once we get the Parseltongue commands mapped, we can adjust the scheme. If we can floo in a couple of remote golems, we may be able to dismantle the physical runekeeps from the inside."

"Sounds pretty good," Harry admitted. "When should we do this?"

"Let me see," the department chief began mumbling. "Solstice, adjust for Lunar Influence, carry the three..."

Bill looked over at the calendar. "You doing anything on Wednesday, Harry?" he asked, smirking at his boss' maddening overcomplications.

"Nope. Sounds like a productive morning. Sound good to you, sir?"

The wild-haired man slumped, seemingly in disappointment. "Why do you have to ruin my fun, Weasley?"

"Because we're on a timetable, sir," Bill admitted. "I'll make sure Harry is here early on Wednesday. Meantime, we have to go and see his auditor."

Ten minutes later, Harry, Lara, and Bill were seated in Slipshard's office. "Mister Potter," Slipshard began. "At least you're not simply dropping in to add to my amusement. How might I assist you today?"

Harry sighed, pulling out yet another list. "In order of immediateness," he began, "what is the progress on the vault access idea?"

"Hm. I believe we are close to an initial testing phase. We're simply trying to find a solid candidate to get a base level of expectation. With the unpredictable variables inherent in muggleborns at this stage, we are looking for a known quantity to test with."

"How about a known squib line?"

Slipshard blinked. "That... would be acceptable. There would need to be a certain amount of magical flow for the security key to resonate with, so a full-on squib likely wouldn't be able to activate it. We'll have to test squibs later, I suppose. Who do you have in mind?"

"Out of curiosity, is there a Croft vault?"

"Let me see," he replied, paging through a tome. "Yes, here we are. Vault 881, High Security Vault. Inactive since 1714."

"This is the Viscountess Lara Croft. Yesterday, Bill and I observed her actively using sensory magic. Would she be eligible?"

"Possibly," Slipshard admitted. "Miss Croft, you look confused, so I shall explain. Gringotts is the primary bank for magicals within Britain and the Commonwealth. Every one of our customers above a certain amount of holdings possesses a vault. Think of it as a walk-in security box at a bank, yes?" Lara nodded at that. "Now, in the last century, a substantial number of family lines have been wiped out due to a pair of wars and rampant inbreeding. Only now has our society recovered enough to be even remotely stable. However, this means that there are hundreds of vaults in the catacombs below that are unclaimed.

"Mister Potter brought us an idea a few weeks ago. Devise a system that would reestablish a link between a vault gone dark and a descendant of dead family lines. As you are of a line known to have skipped the gift of magic, but apparently have some flow of magic, you would be eligible to test to see if any vaults would be inheritable to you."

"That stands to reason," Lara replied nervously.

"You would be the first to test this new system. And yes, we have yet to sieve the gravel out of the system, it's so new. But as you are a Croft, and there is a Croft vault, this will assist us in fine-tuning the testing for others. In exchange for this service, Gringotts will forgo it's standard fee of 4.5 percent of the vaults contents. Potter?"

"I will also give up my half a percent," Harry admitted quite easily.

"So, what say you, Miss Croft?"

"I... Alright? I suppose. What's required?"

Slipshard smiled a little (incidentally, not easing the young woman's nervousness) as he said, "The process is actually simple, even if the trappings are less so. Weasley, what bizarreness have you poured out of the smelter for this?"

"I have managed," Bill began, "to come up with three different cover procedures. One involves blood and a potion, which meld into the applicable numbered key or keys when there is a matching vault. The second is flamboyant thing, a machine, which takes in blood and, through over complicated and entirely unnecessary whirling of lights, gears, and flavored smoke, spits out a bit of parchment with the applicable vault numbers. The third is a bit more... primal."

"How so?" Slipshard asked curiously.

"It involves someone handling a flaming, crystal based dowsing stone with their blood sliding down a rune-covered ribbon. As the blood descends, magical energy from the stone seems to bind with the blood, using the heat to visibly fuse it into a key, which seems to simply coalesce and drop into a rune-covered bowl."

"Are these necessary?" Lara asked, leaning back slightly.

"Not at all," Bill admitted. "They're simply visual cues to get people to think that the process is overly mystical, mysterious, and exclusive to goblin magics. The actual testing procedure is a resonance wave examination. It's most commonly used in direct, known inheritances as a verification. Harry here popped up the idea of collating the vaults in order to be able to build a testing method for all of this."

"Okay, alright," Lara replied, slowly calming down, "fine. How do we do this?"

"Ah. Place your hand on my desk, Miss Croft," Slipshard stated, gesturing to an open spot. "Now, I wave the resonance crystal over it, and... nothing." Slipshard frowned, eyes flickering up at Harry. "You said she had magic."

Bill looked contemplative, before saying. "Run the scanner again, but this time I want you to do that pulse again, Lara."

She nodded, and the greyish-blue pulse spread. It limned the room, lighting up the desk, torch fixtures, and even outlined the little magical items within Slipshard's desk. And, of course, the resonance scanner, which glowed intensely.

The pulse faded swiftly, and Slipshard drew a shaky breath. "I see. Excellent work, Weasley. And there is a key, yes, vault 881. However," he continued, holding up a sheet of parchment, "it appears that you may have access to other vaults. The spellwork is indicating partial identifiers. I am guessing that there are other family predecessors whose lines have squibbed out, or are no longer with us. I would ask, Miss Croft, that once your expedition is complete, that you return to Gringotts and allow us to make another attempt. Weasley, look at the results."

Bill took the proffered sheet, skimming it over. "Oh yeah. Partial potential positives all over the place. Judging from the raw numbers... Yeah, come back when the expedition is done, and we've had time to clean up the spell work. With this data, we can rough out a more solid level of testing, probably have it ready in a couple of months for you to try again."

"Alright. Sounds... good, I suppose. Thank you, Mister Slipshard. Even if there's nothing there, I still enj-... No, I was too nervous to enjoy this," Lara admitted.

"That's quite all right, young lady. You go check your vault. However, I also recommend that you have a professional check your ancestral home. Now that you have been identified as being sufficiently magical, there may be some things there that will show your family in a new light."

Bill and Lara left, leaving Harry there. "Mister Potter, what other highly entertaining items do you have for me today?" Slipshard asked with a toothy grin.


	26. Preparations Part 2

Harry sighed, commenting, "Lara's testing kind of got away from us, didn't it?"

"Such things tend to happen with you, young man," Slipshard chortled.

"Anyways, Bill, Lara, and I have decided to get the Chamber of Secrets done on this coming Friday night. The plans and backup plans are there, so all we'll need are the portkeys."

"How are you compensating Croft and Weasley?"

"Bill will be getting access to whatever we find down there, and Lara will have exclusive rights to document the Chamber. I will also be using the publishing houses that I'm invested in to ensure she gets published."

"Mm. Good, good. Possibly a little excessive for pay, but still within reason for exemplary service."

"I came here from the cursebreaker office. I'll be accompanying them on Wednesday for some specialty ward stuff; apart from that I'll be standing well away from the Gaunt Shack."

"Safety first, excellent. Anything else?"

"I discovered that the attic of the Blackpool house had a weird version of the stasis spell. Apparently all of the stuff due me thanks to Fleamont's investments pops in through some sort of transfer box that automatically shrinks anything that appears in it. I've been slowly wading my way through boxes full of books, toys, more shrunken cars, and a ton of video tapes and magazines. I had no idea," Harry admitted with a blush, "that there could be that much pornography in an attic."

"Hm. Some of that may be collectible or valuable. It may do you well to hang on to it; reshrink it if necessary."

"Got it. Anyways, Dobby is currently in Foreign Services getting his muggle presence, and has been going around pricing reconstruction firms for the Village Manor. Dobby and I both agree that me taking the headship of the House of Potter should wait until next summer. There just isn't enough adaptation time right now."

"Makes sense," Slipshard agreed. "Get uncertain things settled before making the block of time. Anything else?"

"There is a young goblin named Gobrot. She devised a magical sandbox that can recreate a setting based on a modified, still pensieve memory. I want to invest."

Slipshard frowned, flipping through a great deal of paperwork. "Gobrot, here we are. A low-caste goblin, works border security. Known for absolutely horrible breath that her superiors want to find a way to weaponize. Sandbox?" Slipshard asked.

"Lara called it a 'military sandbox'. I tested it yesterday with a modified pensieve memory of the Chamber of Secrets. It's a little grainy because of the sand, but it seemed to perfectly recreate the Chamber to scale with the box."

"I see. Yes, I can see the utility of such an item. No wonder she's been ignored on this; low-caste goblins are regularly dismissed out of hand," Slipshard explained. "Very well, I'll have her brought up, and see where she wants to go with this."

"I have a question before we get to the topic of Healer Morgan. Are my investments too big for a bank team to manage?" Slipshard cocked an eyebrow curiously at the question. "I mean, the Potter stuff is extensive. Oh, and here is the Evans business stuff that I got from the Royal Society. Dobby will be checking out the properties when he gets time, and once his ID is confirmed. He'll have all the properties appraised by the time I get back.

"But I had a wild thought, _that is in no way meant as an offense to you_!" Harry blurted out. "I had a crazy thought. Will I have to open up my own, private investment and managing firm just to handle the sheer volume?"

"That... is a very interesting question, Mister Potter," Slipshard admitted, steepling his fingers. "Admittedly, the volume of the investments and accounts is daunting on the face of the matter. However, I believe that you should shelve such an idea until my team has a more in-depth grasp of the totality of the project."

"That sounds reasonable. It just seems so _large_."

"I do understand, and I take no offense at your idea. In all honesty, all of the intensive work at this juncture is the sorting of it all. Once we have a proper sense of it all, then we can begin making plans and adjusting expectations."

"Okay. Thanks."

"So, Healer Morgan? Ah, I am going to guess from your flinch that Weasley told you a bit about her reputation." Harry nodded in confirmation. "While yes, she does indeed have a reputation of horrific violence, to my knowledge she has never once done so to someone who didn't deeply insult her first. And never to a child in her care."

"Okay, that makes me feel a little better."

"Now, Healer Morgan has been in contact with me over your healing. She has an offer for you. She has what she calls a 'Body Reconstruction Potion' that she is willing to mix and sell to you. The exact offer is that it will be free of charge if you give her the names she requested a couple of weeks ago."

"Uhh... Y'know, I think I'll just pay cash for that. I'm hoping to just leave the Dursley's behind, Lockhart is basically a child, and Dumbledore... Damn. I really haven't given any thought to what I'm going to do about him when I go back to school."

"Of course you haven't," Slipshard stated definitively. "You've been too damn busy to be able to enjoy your summer. Personally, I recommend that you consider that while on the expedition, and return to it when you get back."

"Sounds good. So when do I meet with her?"

"Now. She's waiting outside."

The slim, waifish woman came in through the door at that moment without knocking. "Auditor Slipshard, Mister Potter. The arrangement?" she asked without preamble.

"Cash, Healer Morgan," Slipshard said warningly. "Mister Potter will deal with the individuals in his own time."

"Very well," she huffed out. "Now, the Body Reconstruction Potion. Mister Potter, the long term damage to your body is extensive enough to warrant such an extreme measure. In short, the formula will rebuild your body up to what condition your genetic structure approximately states that you should be at this point in your life. I will have to take some samples in order to properly brew and key it to your physiology, but a little blood is nothing significant," she stated coolly.

"That makes sense," Harry reasoned.

"In addition, you have a choice between two regimes. One regime is instantaneous, working the changes overnight. The other regime takes approximately three months."

"So... I take it that the difference is in the price?" Harry guessed. "I mean, if price really is no object, why take the slower one?"

Morgan seemed to _somehow_ smirk without actually using her facial muscles. "The overnight version rewrites your body to it's base level for your age. Following that is a month of physical therapy at my husband's clinic in New York while you relearn how to operate your body."

Even Slipshard's eyes grew wide at that. "And the other one?" Harry asked.

"The ninety day regimen slowly rebuilds your body while allowing you normal activity. The body's overall physical conditioning is defined by the amount of physical labor, exercise, and diet produced during the duration."

"So why would _anyone_ want to use the first one?" Harry asked with morbid curiosity.

"I have had four patients choose the overnight potion," Morgan stated. "Each one suffered from significant damage involving extreme burns, neurological damage, or long term disease side-effects such as organ paralysis, internal organ damage, and oxygen deprivation in the brain."

"Huh," Harry replied, considering the offer. "Wait, would this potion help someone with extreme Cruciatus exposure?"

Morgan blinked at that. Harry noted that this was the first time she blinked since she walked in the room. "Possibly," she allowed. "Please provide an example."

"My friend, Neville Longbottom. His parents were exposed to the Cruciatus until their minds... well, checked out. They're alive, but just, umm... not there? I think? Neville wasn't very detailed, not that I can blame him."

"Where are they being cared for?"

"Saint Mungo's."

"And their primary custodian?"

Harry frowned, working through his memories. "Probably Augusta Longbottom, Neville's gran. She's the Regent of the house."

Morgan's head tilted very slightly to the side, as if considering all of the angles. "I see. I will need to bring my husband in on this. He is a neurological specialist augmented with magic," she explained. "I will take the time to meet with Dame Longbottom later. But for now, you need to make a choice, sir."

"I'm taking the three month one. I don't think I have the time to be relearning how to walk right now."

"Mister Potter," Slipshard broke in, "I believe that the true benefit to that potion is that you'll be able to dictate how you redevelop. Better muscle development, proper bone structure, and so on. Healer, how intensive is the internal organ reconstruction?"

"Dictated primarily by exertion and diet at several critical stages," Morgan explained. "The regime is color coded. For three days following ingestion of the green potion, the exertion levels are dictated, and until the next green is taken, the follow-up potions will gradually reconstruct the organs to that level of diet and exertion. Heart, lungs, and circulatory system are dictated by excercise and physical labor, while the lower organs are dictated largely by dietary intake. Essentially, eat junk food and do nothing during this period, and you will end up overweight with heart and lung inefficiencies. Eat healthy and do at least moderate exercise, and the benefits will be reaped. 

"Unfortunately, the basilisk fang shards will still be imbedded in your forearm, still producing venom. That cannot be adjusted without removing those bones and regrowing them. That and your immunity are the only items that the potion won't affect," she finished up.

"Then I'll definitely be going with the second one," Harry repeated. "Where do I go from here?"

"A couple of blood samples," Morgan replied calmly, pulling a syringe and three empty ampoules out of nowhere. Harry presented his arm, and Morgan began drawing blood with practiced ease.

"Wait, what about my jabs?" Harry asked.

One elegant eyebrow arched in response. "Explain."

"I'll be heading to a tropical region, and the master of the expedition said that I need my inoculations updated."

"I see. Thank you for telling me, Mister Potter. The appropriate immunizations will be added to the follow-up potions. Non-magical immunizations will be included. How long will you be in-country?"

"I think we're leaving the second week of July, but I'm not entirely sure."

"Very well. Be here on the 29th. Next week Wednesday." With that, Morgan turned and left, and suddenly the room seemed to actually warm slightly.

"Well, that was... intense," Harry muttered.

"Healer Morgan is deeply valued by Gringotts for her no-nonsense attitude," Slipshard admitted. "She is one of the finest at what she does, but the most vicious human I have ever heard of. At the very least she can be definitively relied upon to do exactly what she says she'll do."

"Well, that's good. Out of curiosity, how much is this costing me?"

Slipshard flipped through some paperwork before saying, "eight thousand Galleons, converted to United States Dollars. A reasonable sum for perfect health."

"I can agree with that," Harry breathed out in relief.

"So, anything else I can help you with?"

Harry considered that for a moment before asking, "Bill told me about some of the rumors going around Gringotts. Something about a return of the Goblin Nation?"

Slipshard sighed, shaking his head. "Sky dreams by the young, I regret to say. Did Weasley explain about the potential long-term ramifications of the vault identification process?" Harry nodded at the question. "That theory has been flying about the bank at the speed of rumor. "While there is some merit to muggleborns suddenly gaining a significant amount of influence, the Board doesn't feel that it will be enough for the changes required to reestablish the Nation, much less damage the long-standing influence of the pureblood voting blocs that are currently in command of the government."

"That's kind of a relief," Harry said, huffing out a breath in relief. "I was slightly afraid of the silly idea of being accidentally crowned King of Magical Britain. Bill joked that I probably wouldn't notice everything happening until I caught someone trying to put a crown on my head."

"That _is_ a humorous thought," Slipshard grunted laughingly, "but quite unlikely. And even less likely to occur within the next two decades, much less your own lifetime. Worry not, Mister Potter. You are unlikely to be elevated any further than you already are, much less crowned."

"That's fair," he replied. "An unrelated thing. I'd like to give Bill Weasley temporary, limited access to my investments account to pick up supplies for the Chamber mission. He knows better than me what kind of equipment we'll need. Also, so that he can help me get magical gear for the expedition."

"Hrm. Not _normally_ advisable, but Weasley's expense reports have always been impeccable. And his contract holds him accountable. Very well, I can make that happen."

"One last thing that I actually thought of this morning. When we were talking investments, you mentioned something about a genetics firm?"

More paperwork was shuffled. "International Genetics, John Hammond. What of it?"

Harry shrugged. "Call it idle curiosity, or even sheer nosiness, but I have a feeling that I _really_ want to know what they're about. Genetic engineering means crossbred stuff, and theme parks means spectacle. I talked that out with Bill this morning, and I was hoping to be able to talk Charlie Weasley into going and seeing what's what."

"Hrm. I am unfamiliar with the Weasley brood at large. What does he do?"

"Dragon handler in Romania."

"Hm. So he would at least have considerable experience with unusual and exotic creatures, as well as be prepared for most manner of unpleasantness. Yes, I see the shovel thrust. What is your intent?"

"If he agrees, his expenses for the trip are covered, as well as his regular pay for the duration. Since he works at a dragon sanctuary, I'm pretty sure he's used to getting regular reports in, so he would be required to report whatever he sees while checking it out."

"Interesting. I can readily contact Hammond about this once Weasley agrees. Any ideas about getting him here for the contract?"

"Bill said Charlie will be in Britain for the Quidditch World Cup in August."

"Good, good. Yes, I do believe that we can work with him on this. I will meet with Cursebreaker Weasley on this matter. And if the man refuses?"

"Then nothing," Harry shrugged. "I'd rather put in someone who's abilities are known to me than an unknown. It may be nepotism, but at least I know that they'll be qualified." 

An hour later, Harry was in Flourish And Blotts, looking for various books. On one hand, he didn't want to be bored on the month-long ocean voyage, and on the other hand being able to actually practice his magic without the Ministry breathing down his neck was too attractive a notion to simply ignore. He also snagged certain books that he knew was on the curriculum for future years at Hogwarts.

Eventually, Bill and Lara found him, sitting on a bench in the shade out front of Number 93. Something about the empty building seemed to call to him, and he felt comfortable resting there while flipping through a book on magical archaeology.

"Hey Bill, Lara. Get everything we need?"

"I had no idea about any of this!" Lara fairly gushed. "Dictaquills are useful, but moving picture cameras? The audio recording crystals are really nice, too."

Bill smiled at her nearly child-like wonder. "Yeah, we got it, Harry. Needing anything else while we're in the Alley?"

"Expedition stuff," Harry replied. "I'll need to get some clothes and boots that'll grow with me for a while, new glasses that'll update themselves."

"Tall order, Harry. We can get it done today, if you have the time."

"I got nothing until Wednesday," Harry admitted, shrugging.

Six hours later, Harry was finally back in Blackpool, relaxing at a shaded table on the South Pier with a hand-mixed carbonated drink, reflecting over the day. Lara had reminded him of himself when Hagrid had first brought him to the alley; wanting to see _everything_ , while asking questions that Harry hadn't had the courage or experience to bring up to the simple half-giant.

Books on spell theory and magical history and philosophy were purchased, as well as enchanted equipment of all sorts. Omnioculars, a couple of moke-skin bags (one each for Harry and Lara), housewares (Harry also picked up a few appliances for his bag such as a coffee maker, magical fridge, stove, freezer, and laundry equipment), stasis boxes suited for both food and samples; if it was magical and Bill said it would be essential, Harry grabbed it, all while Lara was asking technical questions about it.

Harry also grabbed a bunch of perishable food from various stalls, tucking it all into the stasis pantry boxes. A brace of enchanted, plated, and normal knives was acquired, all in a roll of oiled canvas, as well as dozens of premade potions and their ingredients, plus a number of potions books and equipment for the lab inside the bag.

Now, sitting in the afternoon shade on the South Pier (which his great-grandfather was responsible for as some sort of pissing contest with Neville's great-grandfather), he was able to relax and reflect on how well the day went.

On Wednesday, Harry went to Gringotts, accompanying the cursebreakers to the Gaunt Shack. It was fairly easy to disarm the Parseltongue-based wards, once the crew deciphered the commands with Harry's help. Once that was done, Harry stepped away, and Dobby popped him over to Riddle Manor.

Bypassing Frank Bryce the groundskeeper, Dobby showed him around, having repaired the statuary and wall that had been animated and damaged in the fight with the aurors so as to not overly mentally strain the elderly guardian.

Inside was unpleasant. The entire place stank of mildew, rot, and something indescribable, yet foul. Dobby explained that it was the residue of dark magic used many years prior, and was likely the reason that the locals thought the place to be haunted.

Harry did reflect that, had the place simply had the mildew, he could easily see the former glory of the place. And then he wondered if the Riddles had at one point been gentry, given the size of the ancient property.

As Dobby had his muggle ID (as well as rank of Potter Steward), Harry told him to begin purifying the place before scheduling it for extreme repairs. Dobby popped him back to Blackpool, informing Harry that he would be unavailable for the weekend starting Saturday morning, as he was planning on making the trip to France to check out the villa there.

Finally, Friday spun around. Harry managed to get some sleep in the afternoon, as he would likely be awake for at least the entire night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies for the delay. These two chapters were finished almost 2 weeks ago, but the massive storm front that ran across the American Midwest also fried our modem. Took a week to get a new one, so there's that. I have yet another chapter finished, but I'm holding off on posting that until I get more of the Chamber chapters written. I don't want to revise posted continuity errors if I can help it.
> 
> Next chapter: Return to The Chamber of Secrets!


	27. To the Chamber!

24 June, 1994  
11:30P.M.  
Hogsmeade Village

A trio made their way stealthily behind a row of houses, a charm from Bill wiping out their footprints in the snow. Laughter and frivolity could be heard in the distance from the Three Broomsticks, whereas the Hog's Head was marked by Hagrid's booming laughter echoing across the white streets. Finally, Harry turned, heading deeper into the sparse woodlands above the snow line where Hogsmeade rested. His investigations into the accuracy of the Marauder's Map had led him to quite a few more passages than the ones exiting the Shrieking Shack and Honeyduke's.

One had caught his attention in late April. It had been, as the Weasley Twins had indicated, caved in. However, Harry had done his research as a matter of aftermath of the incident with the Chamber of Secrets. There had actually been a section of books in the library on mine excavation, including such topics as surveying, mineral detection, and _cave-in clearance_. Harry had been startled at the (admittedly tiny, given the scope of the Hogwarts library) shockingly blue-collar set of books, but found them to be very useful.

A couple of hundred meters into the woods, Harry finally found the felled tree he was looking for. Gesturing to the tree, Bill used the levitation charm to move it out of the way, the shifted root ball revealing a narrow cave. Harry led the way, an old-fashioned oil lamp in hand as he advanced down the tunnel. Rough earth swiftly gave way to dressed stone, the only difficulties being the slick moss on the floor adding to the slight descent of the grade. Harry inwardly thanked Bill for the advice on footwear.

Several hundred yards in, Bill said, "So, there's where the cave-in was." Ahead of them, much of the dressed stone was cracked and pitted, but firmly attached to the sides and ceiling of the tunnel.

"Yup. Managed to find a book on magical mining in the library. I came down and patched it all up about a month before school let out. I figured the practice would be good for when I eventually came back to the Chamber."

"Good instincts on the foresight, Harry," Lara commented softly, her words easily carrying through the tunnel.

"Just trying to stay ahead of 'Kill Harry Potter' day," Harry muttered darkly.

Finally, two hours later, they reached a ladder leading to what appeared to be a trap door. "Okay, this hatch opens up in the dungeons, East Wing.," Harry began, opening up the Marauder's Map. "Here it is. Second floor girls loo is here. Up three levels, across the Grand Staircase to the third stairwell, up two more levels, hang a left. It looks like the dungeons are empty except for the Bloody Baron, and the only people here are Argus Filch, Mrs. Norris, and Professor Trelawney."

"Trelawney won't be an issue," Bill chuckled out. "She's probably blind drunk by now."

"Actually, she's on the Seventh Floor," Harry commented, confusion lacing his voice. "It's a long ways from the Divination Tower."

"That's weird," Bill admitted. "I don't know that she left the Tower _once_ in all the time I was in school."

"Huh," Harry commented intelligently. "Dobby?"

"Yes, Harry Potter sir," came Dobby's voice at his elbow, the elf having nearly silently appeared.

"Could you do me a favor and find out what Professor Trelawney is doing? If she's drunk, she might wander into an unfortunate spot."

"Yes, sir. Dobby shall do," Dobby answered, even as he faded from view.

"God bless Dobby," Harry murmured. "Anyways, looks like Filch and Mrs. Norris are in his quarters. Moaning Myrtle isn't in the bathroom, and the cloak can hide at least me from the ghosts. Can ghosts see through your disillusionment, Bill?"

"They couldn't while I was here," Bill admitted. "My spell work should be okay."

"Right. Lara, since you don't know Hogwarts at all, you'll need to decide who to go with. Bill can easily meet us at the girl's loo, but you'll need to stick with one of us like glue."

"I'll go with Bill," Lara decided. "I can grab his hand, and he can lead me there. That way, he can cast spells on the fly if something happens, whereas I don't think you'll want to do that under the cloak."

"Good point. Bill will apply that as well as a silencing charm to you both, and the silencing charm on me. We may be in one of the most magically drenched areas in Britain, but I'm not taking the chance of the Ministry finding out I'm casting until we're actually in the Chamber."

"A bit paranoid, but reasonably so," Bill commented.

Bill cast his spells, Harry donned the cloak, and they entered the castle proper. Harry immediately cut through the door, heading swiftly for the Grand Staircase, not pausing to look at the scenery. For all his wanderings, he'd only ever been in this section of the castle once; he in fact very briefly wondered if anyone had ever ferreted out all of the secrets of Hogwarts.

Scampering up the steps, making a left turn, he finally found himself at the bathroom door. Rechecking the map, he noted that Myrtle was still absent, so he walked in, and stood by the massive, ancient sinks, one hand protruding from the cloak to rest on a bit of porcelain.

Ten minutes later, the door opened and closed. Harry heard two taps from a nearby stall. Being the agreed upon cue, he rechecked the map, canceled Bill's silencing charm, and whispered for the sink to open in Parseltongue.

Instantly, the sinks glowed brilliantly white, spinning as they sank to reveal the massive pipe that Harry remembered.

Frowning, Harry whispered for stairs. Nothing happened. Then he whispered for a lift. Nothing happened for a moment before a shimmer seemed to coalesce over the top of the pipe.

Stepping onto the (absolutely solid) field, his uncovered hand gestured for the two to get on. He felt two taps on his back, and whispered for the field to descend. A whispered command in Parseltongue closed the entryway, and ten minutes later, the lift finally revealed the antechamber tunnel, seemingly rough hewn out of dark stone. Harry pulled off the cloak, pocketing it even as Bill cancelled the charms on Lara and himself.

"What is this?"

"This, Lara, is the the lead-up tunnel to the Chamber of Secrets," Harry replied, lighting his wand as he advanced. "Up ahead is a shed basilisk skin, and the door to the Chamber of Secrets. Yup, there it is. Thirty-seven feet and some change."

Bill and Lara stepped up, examining the ancient shed skin. It was still the same vivid, toxic green that it was over a year earlier. Bill ran his hands over it, feeling around the entire length.

"What in Merlin's name," he muttered, looking up at Harry. "It's intact. Entirely intact. No damage, no scars in the scales, nothing. It's as if the skin was shed _yesterday_ ," he breathed out. "Charlie's books taught me some about the harvesting of large reptiles," he explained.

"Thirty-seven feet?" Lara asked. "And the _actual_ creature is eighty?" Harry nodded. "So this is a, what... five hundred year old skin?"

"Could be," Bill admitted. "Up until now, the largest basilisk I ever heard of was forty feet, and it was three centuries old. We just don't know enough about them to get a good gauge, and breeding one without a parselmouth is basically suicide. Only a parselmouth, or snake speaker, can control one," he continued, explaining to Lara. "That the hide is in such good condition, even with the vermin bones around, tells me that not a lot of animals enter this area. That means that it's pretty well sealed off."

The trio continued, finally hitting the cave-in. Harry cast a spell, and slowly the rocks began floating up, settling into the ceiling. A final spell word, and the stones glowed brilliantly red, the edges instantly turning to liquid glass as it all fused together. 

"This is the spot where Ron's wand exploded on Lockhart," Harry explained. "The obliviation he was trying backlashed onto him; I think he was trying to reduce Ron and me to vegetables."

"Why would he do such a thing?" Lara asked, deeply offended.

As they continued forward, Harry explained, "Gilderoy Lockhart would go around, collecting people's stories of bravery, and then wipe their memories of them doing it. He then claimed, in writing, that he did them. He embellished quite a bit in his books to make them seem more appealing. But without witnesses, evidence and claims tend to disappear," he ended with a shrug.

"Your magical world is starting to sound really shifty," Lara commented, trying to imagine what Harry had just revealed.

"Love potions, compulsion spells, memory wiping and implantation, there's a _lot_ messed up in our world," Bill admitted. "I can't really defend it. But people using this kind of stuff are in the deep minority. Kind of like assholes at a club using drugs to get a girl to put out. It's rare, but it does happen."

"And how much of this dodgy behavior is taught above us?" Lara asked nervously.

Bill shrugged at the question. "All of the foundational knowledge is taught here. But most of the truly advanced stuff is taught after Hogwarts. I didn't learn compulsion charms until I signed on at Gringotts, and most love potions tend towards being limited to family lore. Also not illegal, bizarrely enough. And yes," Bill confirmed, cutting Lara off, "I am aware and agree that a love potion is date rape in a bottle. Compulsions can be used the same. I have never used one like that. In fact," he continued, chuckling slightly, "I mostly use them on the portage donkeys that we sometimes take into the field. Only time I used one on a human was to dissuade a muggle thrill seeker from entering a heavily trapped tomb."

"Using a compulsion on a donkey just makes sense," Lara admitted, remembering her own experiences with the sometimes intractable beasts. "So what you're saying is that spells and potions can be misused, but really only by the same kinds of scumbags who'd drug someone for a shag."

"Pretty much, yeah. And what is this?"

"This," Harry said tiredly, gesturing to the round door made of bronze,"is the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets."

"Harry, are you okay?" Lara asked concernedly, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"No, but I will be," Harry admitted. "This place is taking a lot out of me. Last time I was here I was running on pure adrenalin, and my body is wanting to react the same way. I'll get over it." 

Turning, he called for the door to open in parseltongue. Instantly, the brass snake began circling the exterior of the door, as the seven snakes along it's surface jerked back. Within a minute, the door began to silently swing inwards, and the three stepped through.

Harry mentally noted that the place was in somewhat a different condition than he remembered. The pensieve memory had helped with some of the details, but now, without the life-threatening danger, the place seemed to have almost a sense of sanctification. Like how Harry imagined old cathedrals would be.

Granted, while some of the support pillars had been smashed through by the basilisk in it's chase of him, most of the area was remarkably intact. The high ceiling was lost in darkness. and only the faintest glimmers reflected off the water from his lit wand shone through.

" _ **Lumos**_ ," Harry spoke once again, and instantly ancient, enchanted torches began springing to life with a cheery flame. Light almost arced down the vaulted passage, banishing the darkness and gloom, revealing all three of them exhaling clouds of vapor in the near-freezing chill.

Bill cast warming charms, and the three advanced towards the heart of the Chamber. There, just as was indicated in the sandbox, was a massive green serpent, as bright and toxic green as movies claimed that radiation was. Behind it was the massive statue of Salazar Slytherin's face, the mouth still gaping as if to express shock at intruders in it's domain.

Looking down, Harry pointed to some spots. "There is where Ginny was, the book was next to her. Over here is where I stabbed it with the fang; you can still see the ink on the stones."

"Blimey, Harry," Bill breathed, staring at the deceased form of the King of Serpents. "You killed this for Ginny?"

"For Ron, I guess," Harry shrugged, never having really considered the why of many of the things he'd done. "My friend's sister was kidnapped, had to do something. So, yeah. That's about it, I guess."

Lara was already moving about the creature, looking around the Chamber. "Remarkable construction," she breathed, already snapping photos. "You boys take care of the snake," she commented distractedly. "I'll look around, see what I see."

"I do believe we've been commanded, Harry. You got the pitons?"

After several minutes of wrestling and prying, the pair finally manage to tear off a single scale. Setting the portkey spike, Harry hammered it into place, followed by the second one next to it.

"So, now we look around, I guess?" Harry asked.

"Brooms," Bill replied. "You mentioned that the basilisk came out of the mouth; that's the first place we'll need to check. After that, we'll have Lara do that pulse of hers. Well, _if_ we can tear her away long enough," he ended with a grin.

"She _does_ seem kind of intent, doesn't she?" Harry replied, his own grin matching Bill's.

The pair mounted their brooms, with Bill leading the way, defensive sorceries already on his lips. They passed over the threshold. Below and before them was a massive cage. Littering the mesh floor lay dozens of old scales, fangs, and the bones of various creatures. Harry lowered himself closer, peering through the mesh. He saw a deep hole, and at the bottom was water, as well as what appeared to be a stone ledge.

"Bill, the Chamber goes lower. Under the cage I think I see a ledge."

Bill descended, casting a spell as he dropped what appeared to be a golden snitch through the grating even as it began to glow with it's own light. Harry barely made out it's wings snapping out, even as Bill pulled a mirror out of his jacket.

"It's a specially enchanted snitch," Bill explained. "With the spell I just cast, I can control where it goes. The mirror allows me to see what's in front of it."

"Wicked," Harry breathed as Bill twisted his wand, turning the view in the mirror.

As Harry had seen, there was a ledge there. It was wide enough for one of the Hogwarts carriages to drive down, and some fifty feet below the cage. On it's left was a canal, with water-smoothed, fitted stone walls arching over it all. The snitch traveled maybe fifty yards before encountering a wall, the grated base letting the water flow through it. As there were no indications that the ledge went anywhere, Bill turned the snitch around, heading it back the way it came. It passed beneath them without incident, then followed the passage as it gently curved and led to an identical dead end.

"That's bizarre," Bill commented. And it doesn't make sense, unless some sort of magic is needed to open the ends."

"Could be," Harry mused aloud. "Except... Bring the snitch back, but angle it's vision so that it watches the ceiling."

Bill made the adjustments, and the pair watched the mirror. "There it is," Bill commented, now spotting the deep recess in the roof of the canal. Angling the snitch's view upwards, the pair saw some sort of hatch at the top. "How did you know?"

"My cousin likes horror films," Harry said mildly. "He got one that had alligators in a sewer; manhole covers in the street lead down to the ceilings of a sewer."

"Stands to reason. Let me map this, and we'll try to find where it leads up to."

"You map, I'll see what's above us."

Harry floated upwards on his broom, past the gaping maw of the statue, even further upwards. Far, far up, towards the top of the chamber, was what seemed to be a hatch hinged to open inwards to the cage. The hatch was easily ten feet square, and Harry couldn't see any way to lever it up without tools.

"Harry, I got it mapped. Not sure where it pops up, but it's mapped," came Bill's voice from below him.

"Awesome. I have some sort of hatch up here. Can't figure out how to open it without a prybar or something."

Bill flew up, nodding. "Probably a feed hatch. I'm betting it's how Slytherin fed the basilisk when he wasn't directly controlling it."

"So there's likely something up there."

"Maybe. There's a lot of custom magic in the world. Could be a switching chamber, like the box in your attic. Could be anything, really. Best not to get our hopes up at this point."

"Good point. Baseless theories, and all that."

"Doesn't seem to be anything else in here," Bill commented, looking around as he cast spell after spell. "What we're looking for is probably linked to the chamber itself rather than the cage."

"Think we're looking at a custom space expansion sort of thing?" Harry asked curiously as they flew out of the open mouth of the statue.

"It's possible," Bill admitted, "but that sort of Extension Charm work didn't really start popping up until some time in the 1400s. I'm not saying that one of the founders wasn't capable, just that the history doesn't support common usage of the charm set."

"Makes sense. On the other hand, there are a _ton_ of side tunnels and pipes to sort through."

"Which is why we're sticking to the main Chamber for now," Bill said warningly. "It won't do to get lost in the pipe network and suddenly pop up in, say, Snape's bathroom or the Black Lake, now would it?"

Harry smiled at that. "Probably not. How are you mapping the place, anyways?"

"Proprietary," Bill admitted. "Unless you join the Cursebreaker's Guild, I can't teach you. In fact, a _lot_ of the spells I'm using are that way."

"That really sucks, but I get it," Harry sulked out slightly. "Where do we look next?"

"Next I send the snitch out on a grid pattern, and let it fill in the rest of the map. From there I'll match up what we know, and try to figure out where that hatch leads to up here. It should take a couple of hours for the snitch to do what it does, so we should relax and wait. Let Lara do what she does and move forward from there."

The two landed as Harry removed a staff from his backpack, transfiguring it into a kind of coat rack. Once the pack was hung up, he unlatched and unzipped the front and let it fall to meet the ground, revealing a passage into the bag itself. Bill would have to duck a little, but Harry and Lara could easily walk inside. Harry carried out some folding chairs as Bill levitated out tables, and the pair began setting up their command center.

Within an hour, the roll of parchment was over half full of markings where the linked snitch was mapping out the Chamber. Bill had had to make a few corrections, as the snitch kept noting Lara as 'Feature/Ornament', but other than that the mapping was going well. Harry had been whispering in Parseltongue along the walls with no success, and Lara had already gone through a dozen rolls of film. Bill had taken the exposed film into Harry's bag for developing, as one of the empty rooms had been temporarily converted into a dark room.

Another hour passed, and Lara finally flopped into one of the folding chairs. "So much..." she murmured, eyes bright.

"At least someone's having fun," Bill commented, writing down potential areas of interest.

"Oh, I am!" she exclaimed, sitting upright. "The murals tucked behind the pillars tell a fascinating tale. I'm thinking that it's the tale of how the castle was originally founded. There are repeating images of four figures, each color-coded, performing various acts of magic, fighting off the locals, and so on. Absolutely fascinating!"

"Sounds fun," Bill admitted with a smile. "Anything else?"

"The columns are a mixture of Arabian Kindah fourth century and first millenium B.C. Phoenician Carthage. The snake decorations are clearly inspired by temple carvings in India dating to the second century B.C., as well as southern Sahara temples; about 600 B.C. The manufacture of the mosaics indicate that the maker got his decorating and glazing knowledge from western China; the glazing is clearly in the style of the Tarim Basin, likely the Taklamakan Desert style of glazing during the Han Dynasty.

"Furthermore, the dressing of the stone on the floor is indicative of _very_ advanced stone masonry knowledge. That style of set, counter-interlocking flagstone didn't come into style until the mid-1300s in Italy, and even then it was widely dismissed as being too expensive. even if it would support more than three times the weight of conventional flagstones."

Bill whistled appreciatively. "I am impressed. What's your current analysis?"

"Salazar Slytherin was clearly well traveled before he came to Britain. I am thinking that he spent a considerable amount of time on the Silk Road, as well as hitting various locations throughout the known world. I see influences from all over Africa and the Middle East, and then China. The man was knowledgeable, well-travelled, and experienced long before he came here. There is nothing to indicate his origins, but the influences from his travels are all around us."

"What about his name? Does that say anything?"

Lara frowned in concentration at the question. "Salazar is Spanish; can't recall what it means. Slytherin... It sounds like a bastardization of something else, but I can't say until I find more details."

"Got it. Still, damn good work, Lara. I have the negatives drying now; I should have prints within a few hours."

"Sounds great. Is there anything to eat? And how are you and Harry coming along?"

"I'm doing great. My mapper is coming along pretty well, and I've been working out where to start casting some spells. Harry... has had less luck. Basically, he's been walking along the walls muttering in Parseltongue for things to open for him. No joy for him so far."

"Bad luck. But this is probably the first expedition I've been on that I've had such good progress in so swiftly," Lara admitted ruefully. "On the other hand, this is also the first time I've been allowed my head, so there's that."

"Let me guess. You're already starting to write the Tell-All on the Chamber of Secrets."

Lara blushed a little at Bill's smirk. "Kind of," she admitted, pulling some of the recording crystals out of her pocket. "These are the ones I've filled with commentary so far. There's just _so much_ here!" she gushed out.

"Hey Bill?" Harry's voice called from the far end of the Chamber. "You're going to wanna see this."

Bill and Lara hurried over to the far end, nearly the beginning, of the Chamber. They found Harry there, as well as some sort of flip-out panel covered in large, square-cut gems set in a seven point star arrangement. Once they got close enough, they could see that the gems were inscribed with some sort of wavy script that neither had ever seen before.

"What do you think this is, Harry?"

Harry blinked at that. "Wait you can't... Oh, of course not. It's written in Parseltongue, which reads to me as English," Harry stated, realizing the difficulties.

"Huh. I've never heard of Parseltongue as a written language," Bill mused. "It's theorized that there's _maybe_ a half-dozen Parselmouths in the world at any given time, so I wouldn't have thought they'd have their own script."

"Or maybe it's how a Parselmouth translates their native tongue," Lara interjected. "The 'mental map', so to speak, being magically generated, so perhaps it provides a commonality lacking in conventional language construction."

" _Anyways,_ " Harry interrupted, "this looks like a control panel. The gems are marked with Quarters, Armory, Great Hall, Kitchens, Black Lake, Shithead's Office, and Bitch's Library. No, seriously!" Harry exclaimed at both Bill and Lara's incredulous expressions. "I'm thinking that the last two lead to the Headmaster's office and the Library. I'm also guessing that Salazar _really_ didn't care for Godric and Rowena towards the end."

"That's... not surprising, considering the legend," Bill admitted, nodding slightly. "So it seems like a control panel for fast travel through the castle. What do you think of it, Harry?"

Frowning, Harry replied, "I think we need to figure out if any of the magical connections are broken or anything. And then we figure out where they go. I mean, is it a kind of instant travel? Or is it a straight pipe to the location? If the pipes in the castle are big enough for the basilisk, who knows what else we might find in them? What if we open a path, and something comes _out_?"

"Excellent point," Lara commented, looking around. "Bill?"

Bill waved his wand in a complicated pattern, muttering a spell chain as he went. "It seems like the panel is connected, and the only trigger is a wand tap. I'm not sure what gets activated, but all seven gems are connected to something in the castle; I'm guessing the wardstone network."

Harry sighed, popped his neck, and readied his wand. "You two stand way back. I'll tap one, and we'll see what happens."

Bill and Lara backed away about twenty feet. Harry steadied himself, raised his wand, and tapped the gem keyed to what he thought would be the least dangerous: the Armoury.


	28. The Chamber of Secrets Part 2

Almost instantly, a grinding sound reverberated through the Chamber, even as a section of floor tipped upwards. Turning towards it, Harry let go of the panel, sighed, and began trudging towards the new opening some fifty feet away.

The three looked inside to see a flight of rough hewn stone stairs. Shaking his head, Harry began to step forward until Bill stopped him, saying, "My field, Harry."

"Ah, yeah. Got it."

Five minutes on a moving staircase (that acted more like an escalator), and a complete lack of traps, and the trio was at an oak door that looked nearly new. Bill did his scans, nodded, and opened the door.

Inside was a large chamber, packed floor to vaulted ceiling with melee weapons of all manner of styles, bows from across Europe and Asia, and oddly enough, several dozen suits of armor, all in the same style.

"This armor", Lara began, "is a combination of the Roman style of Lorica Segmenta with the more advanced French plate armor of the fifteenth century. If I had to guess," she continued, gesturing at the dark green torso segments, "these Founders were far in advance of their non-magical peers to be able to combine centuries-disparate styles."

"Divination," Bill instantly answered. "Seeing the future can be a fun thing, if the person has the knack for it. However, I would wager that these segmented sections across the torso are shed basilisk hide, while the greaves and gauntlets are probably made of alchemically treated urukku. Otherwise known as 'wootz steel'," he explained at Harry and Lara's questioning looks. "Furthermore," he continued, opening up a suit of armor on a display stand, "you can see the inner layer of bronze-wired leather, which comes from Hykos origin. Hykos was a society from the Levant region, roughly 1600 B.C. The bronze wires are etched with Semitic runes. They seem to provide a crude version of the Cooling Charm, as well as making the entire outfit lighter."

"Fascinating," Lara breathed, running her hands down the dark green 'leather'.

"I'm seeing a _lot_ of weaponry in here," Harry commented, slowly turning in place. "Why would the Founders need so many? Or was it just Slytherin?"

Bill shrugged at the question. "Remember my thing about guns a few days ago, Harry. Magic is good for a lot of things, but armor is generally designed to be good against specific kinds of attacks. Chain mail, for example, is good against most things, but is shit against piercing. Plate is great against a lot of stuff, but a solid war hammer will bend and warp the best of rigid protections to uselessness. It's similar with the weapons. No one weapon is amazing at everything, and different people have different training and needs."

"Historically in Europe, the Romans and the Greek Spartans came closest," Lara cut in. "Each group broke down battlefield needs to a handful of weapons, and issued them exclusively to their soldiers. With this selection, however, I would wager that the castle had a substantial collection of military force for 1000 A.D. Clearly the Founders didn't rely exclusively on their own magics."

"Makes sense," Harry mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Although... I do wonder where the siege engines might have been."

"For that matter," Lara intruded, "where were the stables, the brewery, and the utility forge?"

"Good questions," Bill said, nodding. "Mind you, with magic involved, odds are quite a lot of that got relegated to whatever used to be on the grounds. Add in that this was originally built specifically as a school, a lot of what would have been standard for a castle in 1000 A.D. might have been ignored."

More poking around revealed a forge and many tools appropriate for the armory, as well as quite a bit of ingots of different metals, but little else. Lara even tried her magical pulse, but the enchantments on the weapons and armor drowned out any subtlety she might have been able to detect.

They left, and Harry pondered the control panel again. He rechecked the map to confirm that mostly the same people were still in the castle as when they entered. As it happened, there were quite a few additional names on the map, but it seemed that they were all in their quarters. And then Harry checked his watch; it was nearing 7 in the morning.

"Shall we try a longer distance spot?" he asked, his wand hovering over the panel.

"I don't see why not," Bill replied. "Nobody's around, so we can invisibly check, say, the Great Hall? No portraits there to report, nobody inside, I think we'll be clear."

Harry tapped the jewel, and the same section of floor ground it's way down, and then back upwards. Shrugging, Harry pulled out his cloak, donning it to leave his head exposed as he headed for the tunnel.

This time, the tunnel revealed a hallway. Patches of glowing stone lit the way, and within ten minutes they were at another doorway.

"Harry, I'm reading a kind of temporal warping," Bill reported, waving his wand. "We traveled the full distance, but less than ten percent of the time has actually passed."

"Makes things easier," Lara commented with a smirk. "I wonder if boots can be enchanted like that. It'd make hiking a lot faster."

"Seven League Boots were the prototype for that," Bill commented with a shrug. "Turns out control is a major issue, and you end up missing a lot of stuff while passing by so fast. I hear that a lot of people became one with the environment trying to use them, if you catch my meaning."

Lara turned a little green at that, even as Harry flipping up the hood of his cloak. Edging open the door slightly, he peered out to see that the door opened out a section of wall directly behind the staff table. The Great Hall was bright in the morning light combined with the enchanted candles hovering near the ceiling, but was indeed empty. Backing up, Harry resealed the door. Turning as he dropped the hood, he said, "Great Hall, behind Snape's usual chair."

"Huh. Head of House access. Makes me wonder if the others had their own access routes," Bill wondered aloud.

"Maybe there are other personal chambers that didn't make it into the legends," Lara commented.

"We'll have to look into that later when we have more time," Harry said, now moving back towards the Chamber. "Quarters next?"

Once more in the Chamber, Harry tapped the appropriate gem, the slab ground and reset itself. Harry strode forward, and then was stopped by Bill.

"No, wait," he said, holding a hand up in front of Harry. "We've been up all night, we're tired, you're likely exhausted from adrenaline decay. Let's all get some sleep before we do something stupid, yeah?"

Harry opened his mouth, and then closed it. "You're right," he admitted, feeling himself sway very slightly. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"It's alright, Harry," Bill commented. "We have the time, and nobody expects you to get it all done at once. Think of it as practice for the expedition."

"Harry Potter sir," came Dobby's voice from near where the bag hung. "Dobby has news."

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"Dobby got Proffessy Trelawney back to her tower. She was hiding many bottles of sherry in a room full of junk, sir."

"What, like an abandoned classroom?" Bill asked.

"No, sir. Dobby regrets that he took so long, but had to check with the other elves. This room on the seventh floor, they call it the Come-And-Go room. Room can become anything needed. For divvynation teacher, it became what elveses call the Room of Lost Things. Huge piles of discardsed stuffs. Eldest elf in kitchens believes that it has been building up stuff since Hoggywarts opened, sir."

"That's neat," Harry admitted. "How does it work?"

"One walks past the wall across from the tapestry of dancing trolls three times while clearly thinking of what he wants," Dobby explained. "In Professy's case, she was looking for place to hide stuff. The room was bigger than the Great Hall, sir. _Much_ bigger. And then Dobby got Professy back to her tower. She is very drunk."

"I get it. Thanks, Dobby. I'll have to look into that a bit later. Good luck on your trip to France."

"Dobby thanks Harry Potter sir, and wishes him best luck as well," Dobby replied, already fading out from view.

"Come-And-Go Room, huh?" Bill asked to himself. "Yet another secret we'll be looking into, I suppose."

"Sounds about right. But I'm going to bed. You two can pick your own bedrooms; I've got enough of them."

When Harry awoke (he had no idea _where_ Dobby'd gotten the bed, but he _knew_ he was going to have to have at least one in each of his homes), he performed his morning rituals (once more congratulating himself on the purchase of the magically modified Japanese super-toilet), he managed to drag on clothes and head towards the kitchen.

Sitting at the table, steaming cup of coffee in hand, was Lara, going over her notes.

Harry blinked, then remembered that he had temporary flatmates. "Morning," he mumbled, pouring himself a cup, once more noting that Dobby had been entirely correct about the morning coffee.

"Good morning, Harry," Lara chirped brightly as she pulled a thick sheaf of photographs out of an envelope.

"How's it all going?"

"Brilliantly," Lara gushed, spreading the photos across her side of the table as she began assembling them into some sort of order. "Honestly, this kind of research could take years to properly document. I've managed to photograph maybe twenty percent of the murals, and each one tells it's own tale. I'm just hoping that they're in chronological order to make it easier."

"Huh," Harry replied dully. "Sounds like a lot of books to be published."

"Definitely," Lara agreed absently. "The pillars and such tell their own tales, and if you can get the broken ones fixed, there may be additional clues there. Oh, but don't repair them before I get some interior stone samples. That might help me determine where the stone came from, and when."

"Okay," Harry blankly agreed. "How long have you been up? And what time is it?"

"I've been awake for a couple of hours now," Lara admitted, "and it's just gone half-three."

"Got it. Breakfast, jog around the chamber, back to work," Harry stated, summing up his own internal list.

An hour later, once Harry had eaten, jogged, and showered, he finally was prepared to meet the Chamber. Lara had already gotten her stone samples, so he was preparing to cast the repair charms on the pillars when Bill walked up to him.

"Harry, before you make any changes, we need to finish checking the passages."

"Right, got it. Sorry, it's too early for much more than the basics, Bill."

"I get you," Bill replied with a smile. "Also, I have an idea on how to get under the cage, but you'll need to sign off on it."

"Oh?"

"Since this is all yours, you'll need to approve. But my idea is to vanish a section of the cage big enough to slide through on brooms."

Harry blinked at that, slowly rolling the idea over in his head. "Well, since there's no basilisk, the cage isn't really needed. But we use ropes and such just in case of weird stuff."

"I can do that. I'll cast a net-making charm before we go in. Have to clear up the bottom of the cage; those scales and teeth are valuable in their own right. Plus we don't want to contaminate the waterway."

"Point," Harry admitted. He sighed, before continuing with, "Fine. Let's get the cage cleared out before we do anything. After that we'll take a look at the quarters. From there we'll look at the... Wait. Did that hatch we found meet up anywhere in here?"

"It didn't," Bill replied. "If my numbers are correct, it pops up about twenty meters outside the Chamber to the North. That's to the left as you face the statue," Bill explained.

"Hm. So probably one of the tunnels, one of the pipes, or... Or the quarters. I can't imagine it coming out anywhere else. Well, unless we missed something in the armory."

"Possible, but doubtful. One last bit, Harry. I'm going to take some time while we do this to teach you a few spells and techniques I've learned. Nothing from the Guild, just stuff I've picked up that'll make this sort of thing easier on you. And with you and Lara heading out in a couple of weeks, you'll want these spells to make things easier on you."

"Sounds great. Hermione was always better at book learning than me, but I usually got the practical stuff down fast."

Another hour passed with Lara clicking the camera and taking notes while Bill led Harry through spellcasting in ways Harry had never been able to operate. Suddenly, his wand movements had to be efficiently minimized ("Caves and tight quarters, Harry"), his incanting had to be nearly silent ("Too much echo"), and even how he stood had to be adjusted ("Be prepared to leg it instantly"). Bill ended it there, telling him that more would be taught later, but the basics had to be constantly practiced.

After that, the pair re-entered the statues mouth. Using large sacks and dragonhide gloves, they filled several of them with the detritus shed from the basilisk. That also learned, the hard way, that trying to use any sort of magic on the scales and fangs was entirely pointless; every bit of it was highly resistant to magic. The animal bones, however, easily floated into yet another sack.

From there, Bill began casting on the cage itself. And then stopped.

"Bugger," he muttered. "This won't work, mate. I think the iron's been treated with something to strengthen it. Pardon the pun, but magic just isn't cutting it."

Harry chuckled at that, but said, "Nothing to be done for it then. Grab some lunch, then hit the quarters?"

"If we can tear Lara away from the murals," Bill replied, rolling his eyes. "Seriously, I've never seen _anyone_ act like this about historical stuff. It's more like Dad and his muggle stuff, the passion."

"How often has your team worked with a history specialist?" Harry point out.

"That... is a really good point," Bill admitted. "Usually the historians are brought in after we've disarmed a place. Bloody hell, has my team become the hired help hidden from the nobs?" he asked, mock horror filling his voice.

Harry laughed at that. "Alas, how little respect you get at work. At least the pay helps. Uh, it does help, yeah?"

"Alright, enough of that. Let's get Lara and go find the evil loo."

An hour later, the three had managed to get to the quarters. A distinct lack of anything resembling traps once again greeted them (with Harry commenting that perhaps Slytherin didn't want to disarm a face-eating trap on his way to the kitchen for a cuppa), and then they were in what appeared to be a fairly wide, round chamber. A staircase rose along the wall to another floor, and the room itself resembled nothing less than a fairly ordinary (if ancient in style) study. Packed floor to ceiling were shelves holding scroll cases, crude tomes, and even hard clay tablets. A small fireplace stood in one corner, and beside it was what appeared to be a pre-industrial easy chair. A small table stood next to it, and on the table was a crudely carved wooden mug.

Bill began to teach Harry a spell that would identify the ages of not only the tomes, but also the languages written in them. Harry got it in three tries.

"Hm. Seems like almost all of the books are dated at roughly 800 A.D.," Harry began commenting as Lara let the dictaquill record, "the scroll cases vary wildly between 1000 B.C. and 1200 A.D. The clay tablets seem to weigh in at anywhere between 1000 and 3000 B.C.

"The script, on the other hand, is all over the place," Harry admitted, continuing his scan as numbers flickered across his vision. "The scrolls are in fifty different languages, the books are... Old English, Mozarabic, Latin, and Sandawe, whatever that is. The tablets are... Hm. Sumerian, Archaic Egyptian, and... Indus? No idea."

"Actually," Lara began, "Sandawe is a currently endangered East African tongue most well noted for it's click-consonants. Indus means that it's the symbological language discovered within what is called the Indus Valley Civilization. It was in what is now Pakistan and Northwest India in roughly 2000 B.C. The language is a complete unknown for translation, as there are no clues as to how it structures."

"Huh, Nifty. Does it mean anything?" Harry asked curiously.

"Not quite yet," Bill replied, casting his own spells. "There are extensive preservation charm runes worked into every millimeter of the shelving. I recommend waiting until you can find a way to either copy them, or build a preservation case of your own. Apart from those two options, I don't advise any of these leaving this room for any reason."

The next floor up contained what appeared to be a kitchen, the same size as the study below that; roughly fifteen meters across. A fireplace rested above the one below, only this one was large enough to spit an entire pig. Various hooks hung on the mantle, as well as a levered swing arm, all made of blackened iron.

Cabinets lined the walls, and a number of thick tables were in a circular arrangement in the center of the room. Pans hung from the ceiling, all within easy reach, and pots rested on shelves beneath the tables.

"If I didn't know any better," Lara began, "I'd say that this was a Victorian model of industrial kitchen. I've seen modern chef kitchens that were laid out like this."

"Could be that Slytherin had his own team of house elves," Bill admitted, "and they arranged all of this."

"Hey, look at this," Harry called out. The two adults looked over to see that Harry had opened one of the cabinets. Peering inside, they saw a dozens of ancient glass jars, all sealed with wax.

Casting spells again, Bill stated, "I'm going to guess that these are early-model stasis-charmed jars. Predecessors to the stasis boxes you bought a few days ago, Harry. No markings, though."

"Maybe the labels fell off over time, or-" Lara began

"Or the glass was molded with Parseltongue letters in the glass," Harry stated, hefting a jar. "This one reads 'Mutton Spice', while this one over here reads 'Hindi Peppers'. You two wouldn't see it, because to you two it looks like swirls of greenish coloring. To me it reads in English."

"Interesting," Bill noted. "You could be looking at a treasure trove of lost spices, Harry. Plus, if those herbs are in full stasis, it may be possible to grow them at some point."

"I'll have to talk it over with Neville."

The other cupboards had more food, all in stasis of some sort, as well one full of dishes. Plain glazed and fired clay, simple crude steel knives and spoons, Lara took many pictures of the dishes, explaining that the glazing itself could help in finding more information on establishing dates of events.

The next floor up was, once again, the same size. This one, however, was far more cramped, as an ancient potions laboratory occupied a full third of one wall. There was a massive cupboard beside it, with several dozen tiny drawers. Lara called it an Apothecary Cabinet, while Harry pulled out sticky notes, translating the labels etched into the front of each drawer.

Bill, meanwhile, used the dictaquill and camera to note that there were several work benches, all on casters (that hadn't rusted up), and the ceiling had, on chains, a lowerable alchemical and ritual circle made of gold.

The next room up was the bedroom. Harry blinked, and then backed up to the staircase.

"What is it, Harry?" Lara asked.

"Salazar never left," Harry thickly got out, pointing at the bed.

Bill wove his way around Harry, wand up and ready. Until he fully saw the still-dressed skeleton atop the ruined straw mattress. He began casting spells, and then said, "Okay, I have Date of Death as 1111 A.D. I'm guessing he got into the legendary row with the others, and then spent the rest of his life down here."

"Oh, wow," Lara breathed, peeking around Bill. "It's now a tomb."

"Not liking this," Harry muttered, sliding along the wall away from the bed at the other end of the room.

"Hmm," Bill murmured, not seeing Harry's distress. "Odd readings. Lara, could you do your pulse, please?"

Instantly, the room faded to gray-scale, with a half-dozen objects limned in bright yellow. The low book case next to the bed, a bronze mirror on the wall, a sword hanging on a belt in the standing wardrobe, a small stand atop the book case, an abacus on the nightstand, a tall metal urn on the floor and what appeared to be a bracer, still on the corpse's right forearm.

Lara shifted, breaking her concentration. "So Harry, what do... Are you alright, Harry?"

Lara's concern broke through Harry's distress. He knew he was on the edge of an anxiety attack, and was rigidly controlling his breathing. Thankfully, Lara's voice managed to pull his gaze away from the long-dead body on the bed. "No, I'm not," Harry replied dully. "I wasn't expecting him to _still be here_!" he hissed out.

Bill blinked, and then palmed his face. He'd been dealing with Harry's very mature attitude for the last couple of weeks, and had mostly forgotten the very real fact that Harry was still thirteen.

"Shit. Sorry, Harry. I didn't realize... Look, if you want to wait downstairs while we do this, I'm not going to blame you."

Harry took a deep breath, held it, and released it with a shudder, becoming visibly less shaky. "No, I'll manage. Might be worse later. Best to face this sort of thing now," he replied, his jaw setting firmly.

"Alright," Lara spoke. "But if you want a break, just go. We'll not stop you."

Harry tightly nodded once, and Bill went back to his casting. "Right. Looks like the mirror is a scrying device; it might be connected to the castle wards, but I can't see how to check. The stand on the book case is a wand stand. No wand, but it probably rotted away long ago. Book case is a magical reflector. Basically, it enhances reading, thinking, and memory retention rates. Not sure what the ratio is, but it's at least three to one. The urn is a chamberpot; it just vanishes the mess. The abacus looks voice activated, nothing else. The sword is... Wow. Ever-sharp, nearly indestructable, and looks like some sort of combination of blasting and piercing hex laid on it. One hell of an armor shredding blade. As for the bracer..."

Harry looked at Bill, who had trailed off. "What?"

Looking him in the eye, Bill stated, "I think it's the Slytherin House focus. Do you know about those?"

"Neville mentioned that. Um... Signet rings, amulets, and so on."

Bill sighed, leaning against the book case. "Exactly. Each family line has a focus for the Family Magics. Different eras called for different styles. The Weasley focus, for example, is a pendant with our sigil. If I'm right, this bracer is the focus for the Line of Slytherin. As you are the head of it by conquest, it's yours by right."

Harry pondered that for a moment, eyes flicking between Bill and the bed. "What's the difference between grave robbing and tomb looting?" he wondered aloud.

"Living memory, mostly," Lara spoke up. "What? It came up in my first year of college," she defended as both men looked at her in confusion. "Basically, it stands that if there is nobody in living memory who personally knew the deceased, it's no longer grave robbing. Not that tomb looting is generally accepted," she admitted. "But that mostly falls into areas of historical significance and cultural preservation."

"Okay. Right. Makes sense in a weird way," Harry admitted. "So what do I do about it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My wife and I had an intense discussion on the difference between archaeology and grave robbing. That bit at the end was the practical solution that we came up with.


	29. Part 3 of the Chamber of Secrets

Bill sighed, walking over to the bed. Casting even more spells, he said, "I hate to say it Harry, but you're going to have to come over here and pick it up. Now before you freak out," he brought up at Harry's increasingly panicked expression, "there's no organic material here. At the moment, there's no difference between what's on this bed, and a bone someone might buy for their dog.

"My castings are telling me that only a member of the family line can touch it, and only the Head of House can wear it. The consequences would be... actually," he admitted, looking startled, "not too terrible. Minor hexes, almost like... things that would be used as pranks?"

Harry and Lara stared at that. "No, it's true!" Bill exclaimed. "I'm reading a modified tripping jinx focused on the hands, an itching jinx focused on the groin, a color charm focused on the face and hair in the colors of green and silver, respectively, and an unlocking charm that randomly targets buckles."

Harry scrubbed down his face with his hands, groaning. "Basically, it makes someone clumsy, makes them scratch like they caught something, colors their face and hair in Slytherin colors, and randomly undoes people's pants. Seriously?!"

Bill nodded as Lara giggled at the ridiculousness of it all. "I'm guessing that, being in a _school full of children_ , he didn't want anything too offensive or difficult to cancel. I mean, I _could_ pick it up, but I really don't want to spend a few hours figuring out how to cancel this stuff."

Harry huffed out a breath, and then forcibly stalked up to the bed. Looking down, he blinked at the image before him. Atop an ancient straw mattress lay a skeleton in what was once a medieval dressing gown. The absurdity of it almost drove giggles out his mouth before he smothered it, reached down, and grasped the scaled brass bracer, adorned only with the serpentine S symbol at the wrist picked out in tarnished copper.

Sliding it along the arm, he drew it off, allowing the skeletal arm to rest once more on the bed. Standing up fully, he took three smart steps back, and then finally exhaled. Blinking a few times, Harry finally took a good look at the bracer. Clearly it strapped to the arm, and protected from just below the elbow to the wrist in the style of a vambrace. At the end of that was another plate, attached by a hinge, that would cover the back of the hand.

"Whew. Anything else up here?"

"Actually, I recommend grabbing the sword as well," Bill commented. "Weapon and armor tend to be sympathetically bound in magic, especially in the medieval era."

Harry opened the wardrobe, pulling out the sheathed blade. The belt was thick, plain brown leather, with a bronze buckle. The sheath was oddly curved, being made of black wood with odd silver designs inlaid into the surface.

Harry turned to Bill, saying, "Let's get back to the Chamber before we do anything else. I need to calm down, and then we can figure this all out."

Another two hours passed before Harry got himself fully under control. Lots of pacing, more than a little loudly arguing with himself sealed inside of the magic bag, two cups of tea. Finally calmer, he checked the clock. It was just past ten at night (he realized that the Chamber made having a sense of time impossible), so he opened the bag back up and stepped out.

To see Lara's eyes being the widest he'd ever seen, even as Bill chuckled at her reaction.

"What?" Harry eloquently asked.

"Your bag! It was like... like," Lara's mouth worked silently, trying to put to words what she'd seen. "When you closed it, it disappeared. And then I forgot about it! Bill kept reminding me, and it was like I didn't _want_ to look at it! And then when you opened it, it just reappeared!"

"Harkin's work is some of the best," Bill commented with a smirk, a battered, tin cup of tea in hand, "And Harry let him off the leash. Harkin usually is limited to what little a customer is willing to spend. Two bedroom tents, a flat in a trunk, that sort of thing. Harry dropped over forty grand on that bag, gave Harkin a list of requirements, and let him earn his pay."

"Forty grand? For _that_? That seems too cheap!"

"Until you realize that I was pricing in Galleons. The conversion is roughly 25 Pounds to the Galleon. Harry paid a _lot_ of money for that, and Harkin made sure to give it his best. Clearly, Harry got his money's worth."

"Astounding," Lara breathed. "Anyhow, are you feeling better, Harry?"

"I am," he replied, sitting down at the map table. "I think I'm ready for the next step. What do I do, Bill?"

"Since you are the head by conquest, and there aren't any known descendants alive, you should be able to strap on the sword and bracer. You're a bit on the small side, but the scales should be able to tuck in well enough for at least an initial fit and bonding. After that, I'll coach you how Dad coached me for when I take up the Headship. Honestly, it really shouldn't be too tough."

"Neville said something about the Family Magics possibly affecting my mind," Harry replied nervously.

"And that's why I'm here to help, Harry," Bill replied soothingly. "While taking over a Headship tends to be a process kept only in the family, the actual act of will versus magic is pretty standard, from what I've read. All else fails, I'll cut the bracer off of your arm and stop the process. So relax."

Harry exhaled heavily, standing up. Lara helped him belt on the sheathed sword, and then helped him adjust it properly. It hung rather loosely given Harry's small frame (an idle thought of the reconstruction potions flickered across his mind), but Harry then grabbed up the bracer.

Looking at it closely, he saw that was made of brass (or a metal that looked like brass), in interlinked metal scales. The metal plate for the back of the hand included a ring for the thumb, so it was clear that it went on the right arm. Sighing, he laid it on the table, laid his arm into the center of it, and then slipped the ring over his thumb.

Instantly, leather straps were wending their way through the inner eyelets even as the bracer adjusted it's size to his hand and forearm. Picking up his arm, he discovered that it limited his hand motion slightly, but now that it was properly mounted, it had nearly no weight.

"Huh. That was simple," Harry commented, flexing his arm and hand. "Barely weighs anything."

"Interesting," Bill murmured, wand wending around in intricate patterns. "I see now. The bracer is altering it's aura to best fit your magical signature. I can see it drawing power from... Lara, pulse please?"

The grayscale returned, flooding the Chamber. Harry blinked at the sheer amount of items limned in yellow, from the statue to the torches. But above all, his new bracer was glowing, and Harry could visibly see the magical energy flowing from a point on the floor halfway down the Chamber, winding around columns, and flooding into the piece of armor.

Bill ran over to where the energy was coming from, marked the origin spot on the floor with a bit of chalk, and jogged back.

Finally the flow ended, and Lara let her concentration lapse, slumping heavily into her camp chair as color returned to the Chamber. "Never held it so long," she gasped out. "Never knew I could do that."

"Wow," Bill stated. "The Cursebreaker's Guild will be wanting you to join, that's for sure. And every spell researcher in the land will want you working for them. Let's all keep this to ourselves for now, yeah?"

Harry grunted, the vambrace now seeming to tremble. "I think something's happening, Bill."

"Okay," Bill said, coming around the table. He cast a spell on the floor next to Harry, saying, "Lie down and relax, Harry. I have a cushioning charm up. Now, what you need to do is let the flow happen. Right now, you're holding off a river. You need to let the flow begin washing into you. Just like using a wand, Harry, just the other way round."

Harry closed his eyes, and worked towards relaxing. Slow, deep breaths, much like his anxiety exercises. Gradually, he began to feel the trembling from the armor reducing, even as something... new yet familiar gradually trickled into him.

"Good, good. You're doing good, Harry," Bill's soothing voice came from above him. "Now, try to relax your mind. Imagine a sunny day, and you're in a park, getting ready to meet a friend. That's what the magic will feel like once it's fully synched to yours."

Harry did what Bill said. He could see the park in his mind's eye, feel the sun beating down from above, almost smell the grass.

That's when he heard the muttered, "Oh hell."

Harry tried to open his eyes, break out of his trance, but couldn't.

"Not just yet," came a mild voice from next to him.

Turning in the mindscape, he saw a middle-aged man of (he guessed) Arabic descent form out of sunlight. The blade he wore on his hip matched the one on Harry's, as did the vambrace.

"Well, it has been some time since anyone dared offer themselves to me," the man stated calmly, waving his left hand as a pair of park benches materialized. The man took a seat, saying, "I can already sense that you have a solid mind and morals, even if you are lacking in confidence. Young by your society's standards; in ours, you would have been a senior apprentice by your age."

"Alright, you know me," Harry said, sitting across from him. "And you are?"

The man smiled toothily, pearly teeth gleaming in the sun. "I am the personification of the magics of the bloodline of Ned'Yazar. Time and translations have turned it into what you know as Slytherin. You may address me as Salim, after the forger of the gauntlet you now bear."

"Makes sense," Harry admitted. "So, you're here, I'm here. What now?"

"Do you not know?" Salim asked incredulously. "Wait, you _don't_. You were never raised to this, so you wouldn't. Odd, but not unheard of. But you must have some connection otherwise you wouldn't have been able to apply as a bearer of me."

Harry frowned at that. Something seemed... _off_. "I think you misunderstand, sir. I declared myself the head of the bloodline of Ned'Yazar by conquest. I have defeated the Heir of Slytherin three times, killed the basilisk in Salazar's Chamber of Secrets, and now I'm here."

Salim chuckled at that. "Ah, Salazar. A _school_ , of all things. We never agreed with that, but we can only recommend so much. However, I fail to see what this means to me, young applicant."

Harry scratched his chin, and then remembered the Slytherin house tenets: _Cunning and Ambition_.

"Ah, I see the problem, Salim. There are two distinct issues that we are in conflict over."

"And they are?" Salim asked, clearly enjoying the discussion.

"The first is that you've been stuck in a tomb for almost a thousand years. Do you _really_ want to go back to that, when even the known heir to your line didn't take the time to find you?"

Salim nodded his head in acknowledgement. "Your point is well made, young sorcerer. All family magics beg to be used, preferably in the manner in which they were designed. And that... Ah yes, Tom Riddle apparently didn't bother to properly search Salazar's chamber, that is a true shame, and clearly a contamination in the bloodline. Your second point, young sorcerer?"

Harry stood, smirking. "I am Harry James Potter," he stated, his voice rumbling across the mindscape. "I have claimed Right of Conquest over the holdings, members, and line of Tom Marvolo Riddle, otherwise known as Lord Volemort. And that," Harry finished, leaning forward, " _includes you_."

Salim laughed uproariously at Harry's speech. "Well done, young master. I have long tired of spoiled inheritors claiming their 'just due' by right of blood. So tell me," Salim asked, eyes narrowing as he leaned forward, an elbow on a knee, "how did you know?"

"About the test?" Salim nodded. "Well, the Right of Conquest was simple enough. That's an open and shut case of 'I topped the guy, his stuff is mine now.' About how much you can do to me? It was the park benches. They wouldn't exist in Salazar's time." Harry gestured all around. "You're limited by what's in my head. Could you mess me around by messing with my head? Sure! But _would_ you, knowing that I'd be rid of you, even if I had to cut my arm off? And I raised my point about you being in a tomb first. First the carrot, then the stick."

Salim clapped, standing and grinning. "Most excellent, young master. I believe we'll be able to get along _very_ well. Now, it is time for us to separate; your friends are growing concerned. But fear not, we'll be chatting soon."

"Wait!" Harry cried, holding up a hand. "Where are the ward controls in the Chamber?"

"You already know," Salim mentioned with a wink as he faded away.

Harry opened his eyes to see Bill and Lara staring down at him from above. Moving slightly, he saw that they were kneeling on either side of him.

"How long was I out?" Harry asked nervously.

"You kind of weren't," Lara admitted, helping him to his feet. "It was like you were talking to yourself, but we only caught your half of the conversation."

"Huh. Didn't know my mouth was working from inside my head," Harry said, his head now a bit clearer than it was.

"How're you feeling, mate?" Bill asked, guiding him over to a chair.

"Pretty good," Harry admitted, grabbing a bottle of water. "Like my head's a little less fuzzy. I'll get more later, but at least I have it now."

"The Slytherin magics?" Harry nodded. "Fantastic," Bill stated with a smile.

"Salim said I already knew where the ward controls were. Am I right in guessing that it's where you marked the floor?"

"That was my thought," Bill admitted. "And who is Salim?"

"Personification of the house magics," Harry commented offhandedly, shrugging off the question as unimportant. "So we know about the ward chamber. Great. I have the bracer, I have the sword. I think I'll pack a couple suits of that armor we found earlier. We'll still have to drag that shed skin in here and tie it to the basilisk. From there we can check the ward controls."

A few hours later (and Bill transfiguring a sheet around the shed skin and then levitating that), and all of their work was complete.

Finally, Harry walked over to the chalked section of stone. In Parseltongue, he stated, " _You will open before the Head of the House of Ned'Yazar._ " Instantly the section of paving dissolved away, revealing stone steps leading down.

With Bill leading, the three descended. More glowing patches of stone lit their way, until they reached a portcullis that gleamed with a silver sheen. Harry grabbed it with his armored hand, and it easily lifted on silent rails. Striding in, the three saw a room the size of the quidditch pitch. The ceiling rose from massive arched columns, and they were surrounded on all side by man-high gems, each hovering over a cluster of runes carved into the floor. The gems were laid out in concentric circles, each gem in a circle exactly 4.7 meters apart, each ring exactly 22.4 meters apart.

"I never thought I'd see something like this, Harry," Bill breathed in awe, trying to take in all of the sights at once. Lara began snapping pictures as Harry wandered around the gems.

"Me either, Bill. I mean, I thought it'd be something like the travel panel, or just one huge gem, or even a room covered in lost runes. But this is..."

"Beautiful," Lara's voice echoed, reverberating among the gleaming, glowing crystals.

"Wait, controls. Bill, where do you think the controls would be?"

"Center of the room, Harry," Bill replied. "Something this big, you want all of your runes around the centralized cluster."

As Harry advance to the center, Lara was snapping as many photos of the rune clusters at the base of the gems as possible. She was also wishing she knew how to use a broom, as she _really_ wanted to get an aerial overview photo of the entire layout at once.

At the very centermost point within the innermost circle sat a block of reddish sandstone. It was waist high to Bill, and perhaps three feet across while being a foot thick. There were swirling designs on the top of it. Harry reached his hands out, resting them on the top face.

"Looks like more Parselscript," Harry commented, his fingers trailing across the whorls. "Salim is telling me to 'mentally immerse' myself with the wards. Bill?"

"Ground and center," Bill began to explain. "It's an older form of ward maintenance, designed for pre-wand magicals. It tends to be more complete than modern wards, but there's the risk of personality contamination because of the lack of a wand as a buffer."

"Can I use my wand on this?"

"Probably," Bill replied, looking at the runes at the bases of several nearby crystals. "I mean, you're just wanting to adjust the wards slightly, not take them over. So the wand would probably work if you're not wanting to bring the wards up to full power.

"On the other hand, using a wand on something designed like this... There is a possibility of ward rejection," Bill added, countering with the alternative. "There are a lot of theories that Hogwarts has it's own sort of intelligence, and the wards would be the most direct way of communication with the 'mind' of the castle. The castle might be 'insulted' that you're using such an indirect method, and refuse to work with you.

"At least, those are the theories that I have," Bill admitted. "I'll be honest here Harry, this all falls under My Best Guess. I've seen somewhat similar ward controls before, but _never_ anything so elaborate. Seriously, this is up there with the stuff the Unspeakables work with."

"Fuck it," Harry sighed, firmly planting his palms atop the stone. Allowing his magic to flow out through his hands, he only had to wait a moment for results.

"Bill," Harry said, awe tinging his voice, even as his eyes were taking the room in properly, "the theories were sort of right. Hogwarts is intelligent. Kind of like a really smart, eager dog, y'know?"

"That... makes a kind of sense."

"Lara, could you do your sensory pulse?" Harry asked. "I want you and Bill to be able to see some of what I'm doing here"

"Certainly,” Lara replied, flooding the nearby area in grayscale.

Bill and Lara watched as the gems and runes were limned in light, but also stared at the interactions of the magical flows between them and the center stone.

“I think I see,” Lara breathed out. “It’s like the shack lines, yeah?” Bill nodded at that. “So the different colors are different effects, and the effects are altered by the individual stones in the path. It’s a computer program.”

“A what?” Bill asked, genuinely confused.

“A computer,” Lara began, letting the grayscale fade, “is a machine capable of thousands of calculations per second. A program is a set of pre-established operations depending on circumstance. For example... Harry what does this stone do?” she asked, gesturing at a deep blue sapphire.

“It controls... the monitoring charms linked to the Headmaster’s office,” Harry replied, grunting with the effort of focus. “It’s supposed to link to the white one over there to tell the Headmaster where dangerous spells are being cast.”

“Right. So the sapphire is sensory. When it detects hostile magic, it sends a signal to the quartz. The quarts processes this, and send an alert to the Headmaster. With me so far?” They both nodded. “It looks like this entire room is set up in that way. Sensory, response, resolution. The crystals are the control hardware, whereas the magical flow is the operating software.”

“Argh,” Bill replied, rubbing at his temple. “I’ll have to buy some books on this later. You holding up okay, Harry?”

“Yup,” Harry stated, popping the ‘P’. “Looks like a bunch of the links aren’t working right. That sensory crystal? It isn’t reporting to the white one. In fact, a lot of these wards are really messed up. It... It looks like a lot of different people have done half-assed, makeshift jobs trying to adjust or modify the wards over the years.”

Bill looked around, frowning. “That would make a lot of sense. Sounds like the ward structure needs some intensive maintenance. We don’t have time for that right now. For now, what about the portkey wards?”

“Found ‘em,” Harry replied after several seconds, his voice resonating in a double-voice effect. “Portkey egress sensors are at full power. Apparation wards are at full power. Standard repelling wards are at full power.” Harry paused, then looked confused. “Anti-technology wards are at full power?”

“What?” Bill and Lara asked simultaneously.

“I’m looking at this,” Harry continued in the same doubled voice, “and it _seems_ like it was added sometime in the late 1800s.”

“Of course it was,” Bill groaned out. “Phineas Black, least favorite headmaster in all of history. Of course a member of the Black family added something like that. Can’t have ‘good, upstanding purebloods’ being corrupted by the ‘wanton ways of muggles’.”

“I can pull it down from here,” Harry admitted, fingers caressing along the paths of Parselscript. “It looks like it’s blocking out a big chunk of the ward-chain. Several sensors are off duty, their power diverted into this effect.”

“Which wards?”

“A lot of safety stuff,” Harry commented. “House elf alerts when a student is in danger, automatic save from falling from heights, shielding students from a certain amount of magical damage excepting sanctioned duels, that sort of thing.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Lara admitted, looking around intently.

“It really isn’t,” Bill replied. “And it explains why Dumbledore always stressed not doing magic in the halls. What do you want to do about this, Harry?”

“It’s already gone,” Harry stated matter-of-factly. “And I’m using the sensory ward web to synchronize the portkeys in the basilisk to the Hogwarts signature. We’re set for exit,” he ended, pulling his hands off of the stone. “We should get moving. When I come back, I’ll work with it a bit more.”

“What can you do from here, Harry?” Lara asked curiously.

“Pretty much everything that the Headmaster can do,” Harry replied, shrugging. “There are a few things I can’t do without getting access to the main ward clusters, but for now I can access almost the entire magical system of Hogwarts from my vambrace. Slytherin built it that way.”

An hour later, the three were riding a portkeyed basilisk, landing in a warehouse. A dozen goblins rushed forward, cutting ropes and steadying the humans after their swirling ride.

Harry, for his part, simply laid on the concrete floor, eyes closed. “You okay Harry?” Lara asked, kneeling next to him.

“Feel small,” Harry groaned out. “Really, really tiny.”

“To be fair,” Bill commented, having finished helping the goblins wrestle the shed skin to one side, “you were Hogwarts for about fifteen minutes. When you left the grounds, that shut down the magical connection. It’ll probably take you a few hours to get back used to being squishy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO glad I waited to post this until I was done with the Chamber. I had to go back and rewrite several portions because I either forgot something, or two portions of these 3 chapters started to contradict each other. Heck, I had to adjust a few items just in the final edit (like adding the chamberpot, of all things).
> 
> Now, for the final run to the end of this story arc. A few meetings here and there, but most of the heavy lifting has been done. Just little tidbits to be addressed for down the road in the over-arcing metaplot.
> 
> Comments and criticisms are always welcome.


	30. A Brief History Lesson

28 June, 1994  
9:35 A.M.  
Gringotts, London

"I don't... I can't..."

"Be calm, Mister Potter," Slipshard chuckled out. "As I was saying, the original, minimum estimate of value on the basilisk was twenty million. After a proper examination, the team has determined it's worth at closer to thirty. Market fluctuations will adjust that, but Gringotts is confident at a new minimum value of twenty-seven million Galleons."

"Oh, wow," Harry breathed out. "What about the parts I am wanting set aside for myself?"

"Fascinatingly, your requested withholding comes to less than two hundred thousand Galleons. Enough hide for a couple of coats, a few fangs, the heartstrings, the horn, and a half-gallon of venom. Simple enough to set aside, young man. The shed skin alone is more than enough to compensate for that.

"The suit of armor you brought us to examine is of great interest to the smiths," Slipshard continued. "Urukku, forged in pattern welding." At Harry's blank expression, Slipshard explained, "Pattern welding was first done in Damascus. Basically, you make a sandwich of different, thin metal plates, over half of it urukku, or wootz steel from India. Wire it together and hammer it all until it fuses. Slightly heat, put one end in a vice, give it a quarter twist, and pound flat again. Repeat until you have the right number of twists and hammerings. It's an old method of alloying metal when the smith didn't have access to a smelter."

"Got it."

"Anyways, between the alchemically treated metal, the bronze-wire charms, and the basilisk hide tabard, the smiths are _ecstatic_. That you were willing to share speaks even more highly of you, young man."

Harry shrugged at the complement. "As you have said, I am partnered with Gringotts. How could I let down my partners?"

"A most appropriate sentiment, Mister Potter. As for the falcata, the smiths are somewhat less impressed."

"Falcata?"

"The sword, young man. Southern Iberian design, essentially an axe with more edge. Swings with the power of an axe, is passable at thrusting attacks. It is also Damascus steel, but the enchantments make it far more potent than it would normally be."

"Stands to reason," Harry agreed, mentally shrugging.

"The reason the smiths are less impressed is because the enchantments on it are standard for the era," Slipshard explained. "Nothing terribly unusual about that.

"So, the basilisk is being rendered, we've set aside your requests. On business matters, we have people working on the identification system that Miss Croft was kind enough to assist us with testing. The potential contract with Charles Weasley has been drawn up. My team is still going through the investment paperwork that you've brought us; your idea about founding your own firm to exclusively handle your investments may not be the worst concept," Slipshard admitted ruefully, "but we'll have a firmer grasp on that by the time you return."

"I think that covers everything at Gringotts," Harry said, going over his list. "I have an appointment with Miss Langley later today, and Dobby is still in France. Well, I assume he is; he hasn't gotten home yet."

"A fairly safe assumption, young man."

"One other thing,” Harry said, tapping a set of paperwork. “Lara made a great initial test subject. Once you get the wrinkles ironed out of the process, I’d like for your first actual test on a muggleborn to be on Hermione Jean Granger.”

Slipshard’s eyebrow quirked at that. “And why, exactly, is that, Mister Potter?”

“Honestly, she holds pretty much all of the top spots in our classes at Hogwarts, and she takes a lot of mess from purebloods putting her down over it. Wouldn’t it be amazing for her to stand to inherit some squibbed out pureblood house? Especially one with a higher rank than theirs?”

“Hm. Petty, nasty, and entirely appropriate, young man,” Slipshard grinned out. “I can make that happen. Any others?”

“Justin Finch-Fletchley. I remember that, before Hogwarts, he was supposed to go to Eton, which is a _really_ high end school for upper crust types. I’d be willing to be a bit of gold that his dad is titled. And a titled muggleborn, suddenly elevated to some old house, would probably set almost all of those old-money purebloods on _fire_. And since House Ascendancy is specifically an internal matter, there’s not a damn thing that the Ministry can do about it. The Wizengamot won’t touch it, since it sets _them_ up for the same interference!”

“If it works out, a true master stroke, Mister Potter,” came the evilly chuckled response. “We will begin that once Miss Croft comes in for the re-examination, and we can confirm our alterations.”

Twenty minutes later, Harry was sitting in his lawyer’s office. Laura Langley was smiling brightly, setting out paperwork.

“Harry,” Laura began, picking up her list, “I have to say, you’ve made me a very happy lady. This kind of work, well... Ah, you’re too young for that kind of comment,” she interrupted herself, eyes almost sparkling as the comment went over Harry’s head. 

“To business. We have almost finished executing the will. With your exemption of Pettigrew, we have the bequests wrapped up. And with Roth standing up as your legal guardian, that makes almost everything a lot easier.”

“I wanted to bring up something,” Harry interrupted. “Is there any kind of magical method to find the target of a bequest?”

“Hmm. Not sure abut that. What’re you thinking?”

“Well, Pettigrew may be listed as dead, but he really isn’t. So I was hoping there might be some spell that can be legally used to find someone named in a will.”

Laura blinked, then began writing. “That is an _amazing_ idea, Harry. I’ll get Alex on that; she’s my primary researcher on the magical side of matters. She and I went through your memories last weekend. It’s amazing what two single women can get done on the Tour de Franzia on a Saturday.” Waving her hand at Harry’s confusion, she explained, “We basically sat down a box of wine and started drinking while watching it all on Alex’s pensieve. We set up a dictaquill for our comments, and now we’re all caught up. So, I’m thinking that if we can get some sort of tracking spell going, we should be working with Scrimgeour on it?”

“That’s my thought, yeah. Two birds, and all that.”

“Got it. Now, the Right of Conquest stuff... There isn’t much out there on it. Basically, if magic accepts the claim, it’s yours, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it short of offing you and taking it for themselves. Very simple, absolutely inviolable.

“The Hogwarts Charter is getting good,” she continued, grinning in savage glee. “The Board of Governors is trying to stall us on that. Given that Alex has an almost eleven year old daughter, it is indeed her right to request that. The Board claims that they haven’t had to issue a copy of the Charter since before the Statute of Secrecy went into law, and that was for the heir to the throne. So I have my sponsor verbally di-... Eh, _slapping_ them around for me. Since he has pull on both sides, I’m sure they’ll cough up sooner rather than later. He is not known for his patience.”

Harry blinked. “What were you about to say?” he asked.

Laura sighed, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. “I want to apologize. That was me being very nearly too unprofessional.”

Harry smiled. “You know what? I can do with a little ‘unprofessional’. I get enough of that at Gringotts and the Ministry, and Dobby gets really formal on me.”

“You really know how to treat a lady, Harry,” Laura commented, smirking. “I was about to say that Emil was verbally _dick-slapping_ the Board. Oh, and he has been having a really fun time doing it.”

Harry blinked at the casual (yet hilarious) vulgarity. “At least _someone_ is having fun with this stuff.”

“You’ve hit the Royal Society, and they’ll get the work towards your title taken care of. Which reminds me, Emil is wanting to schedule a meeting with you about your title.”

“Ah. Okay, I’m sure we can work something out. According to Roth, we take off in about a week, so it’ll have to be before then.”

“Today is Tuesday... Does Thursday work for you?”

“I have nothing planned,” Harry shrugged out. “Have him... wait, does he have an owl?”

“He doesn’t. Do you have a phone?”

“Not hooked up yet,” Harry admitted.

“Then he’ll go through me, and I’ll contact you. Probably tomorrow.

“As for the Boy Hero series. Printed by Obscurus Books, unknown authors. I’m still working out exactly who wrote the contract in your name; that’s likely to take a court order for them to cough up. Nothing to do there but wait.

“Gringotts is still working out the missing twenty grand; I’m just waiting on word from them. As for the cottage at Godric’s Hollow... That’s going to be an uphill battle. There’s a pretty high likelihood that we’ll have to outright _shame_ the Ministry into doing something about the stasis.”

“Wait, what? Shame? How can you shame the Ministry? Aren’t they shameless?”

Laura threw back her head, laughing at that. “Oh, goodness no, Harry. You see, if I can’t get anywhere with the Ministry, the next step is to use the press. After all, if it pops up on the front page of the Daily Prophet that the Boy-Who-Lived is being kept from his ‘due and just inheritance’, the minister’s ratings will begin to plummet. And since his spot isn’t all that stable, politically speaking, he won’t have much choice but to bend to our will on this.

“As for your Last Scion legal benefits. We’re still working on what all that entails, but it looks like, basically, whatever is written as yours is yours. Neither the Wizengamot nor the Ministry are able to interfere with your inheritances until you either come Of Age or are legally emancipated. By the way, technically we _can_ get you emancipated, but it would be an ugly uphill legal battle to prove that you are better off on your own rather than to have someone else running matters for you.

“Conrad Roth is a great choice for legal guardian, as his sister is magical. He is also fairly well known in certain magical circles, and that kind of networking carries a lot of weight.

“Life Debts. There’s almost nothing definitive out there; it’s a pretty taboo topic among the local magicals. I have an appointment in a couple of weeks with someone in the Department of Mysteries; hopefully they’ll have something concrete for me so we can start figuring out who owes you what.

“Last question, Harry: what do you want to do about the Dursley’s?”

Harry sighed, saying, “I’m really just wanting to leave them behind. I mean, if I do anything, it’ll just be out of pettiness. I figure just letting all that go and moving on with myself is for the best.”

“A very mature attitude, Harry,” Laura admitted. “If I might make a suggestion?” Harry nodded. “Find a magic-aware therapist. Just having someone to talk to about this stuff can be helpful.”

“I... hadn’t thought of that,” Harry admitted. “I just... Huh.”

“Many people either don’t think of it, or are societally conditioned to think it a weakness,” Laura stated, shrugging. “Not to go into detail, but I have known a lot of people over the years who have suffered growing up. I know a man in the States who makes it part of his life to psychologically assist as many people as he can. Granted, he specializes in females, primarily teens, but I have seen many of his girls go into his house completely mentally broken, and come out a few years later to be functional members of society. So yeah, a therapist of some sort.”

“I should start that after I get back,” Harry said, jotting it down in his notebook. “If it can help, I want to do it.”

There was a knock on the door. Harry turned to see a tall, exquisitely beautiful raven-haired woman (with _massive_ breasts) dressed in a well-fitted lady’s suit walk in, a folder in hand.

“Laura,” she said after nodding once to Harry, “here is the information we’ve managed to get from the Ministry records.”

“Thanks. Oh, Alex Westburg, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Alex, my primary legal assistant.”

Harry stood, thrusting out his hand. “A pleasure, ma’am.”

“Likewise, Mister Potter,” she replied, shaking his hand even as her lip curled in a slight smile.

“Is there anything else, Harry?”

“No, ma’am,” Harry replied. “I’m really happy that this is working out. Please, I hope you both have a good day.”

Harry left, and the two women waited a full three minutes before bursting out in laughter.

“Oh, that poor kid,” Alex commented, wiping tears of laughter away as she sat in the chair Harry had vacated.

“Oh, I know!” Laura exclaimed. “At least he’s polite enough to not stare. I mean, he _is_ thirteen; I expect him to look. And let’s be honest, the whole office is made up of hot chicks with brains. But as soon as the looking is done, Bam! He’s looking you in the eye.”

“Impressive. And the work, well...”

“Oh _God_ yes,” Laura moaned out. “I mean, look at all this! How can I not be like this?!”

Alex, began flipping through the paperwork, making little notes even as she said, “I swear, you’re the only person I’ve ever met to get _turned on_ by legal work.”  
******  
30 June, 1994  
10:40 A.M.  
Bradley House  
Wiltshire

“Welcome, Mister Potter!” exclaimed the elderly man. Harry shook his hand, noting the well-trimmed silver hair, the bright, almost electric blue eyes, the age lines as well as the smile wrinkles on the man’s face. His hand grip was firm, definitive, and the man’s entire bearing spoke of confidence and self-assurance.

“Thank you, Duke Langley,” Harry replied, his nervousness somewhat stymied by the much older man’s upbeat manner.

“Oh, just call me Sir Emil. Most do, these days,” he replied, ushering Harry into the manor house. “This way. I have a parlor there. Or... I think that I do. In all honesty,” Emil continued, leading Harry deeper into the house, “I barely use the place. If it wasn’t for certain expectations, I figure I’d end up donating the place to the Historical Register or some such.”

“I can see that,” Harry admitted. “Keeping up with my house in Blackpool is kind of a pain without a cleaning staff. I can only imagine how many people are needed for a place like this.”

“Ah, here we are,” Emil said, opening a door to a brightly lit room picked out with tasteful pastoral paintings, couches and chairs in flower print, and hard wood floors. “Gods, I hate this room. I mean, who in their right mind decorates like this? Must have been to satisfy someone’s mother-in-law, I swear,” he sighed, sitting down in a chair.

Harry sat down on a couch, saying, “Laura mentioned that you wanted to talk with me about the gentry thing, sir. Is she your daughter?”

“Hm?” Emil asked, already pouring himself a tumbler of something golden. “Oh, no. Think more semi-adopted father-ish figure,” he commented. “Oh, this is rude of me. Would you like something to drink?”

“Water, please,” Harry replied, clearly put off center by Sir Emil’s seeming relaxation.

Harry was handed a can of carbonated water, even as Emil said, “Yes, the gentry thing,” he replied in his (to Harry’s ears) oddly cultured accent. “Elevation is a pain in the ass, I’ll tell you that much, Harry. Once upon a time, the gentry had rights and responsibilities. Over the centuries, those have been slowly stripped by the courts, and the crown has simply allowed it. Nowadays we are little more than a set of pretty museum pieces, useful for opening a shopping center, or turning on the Christmas lights in Slough. A far cry from when we had the ear of the crown as a matter of course, rather than by necessity,” Emil said, sadness edging his voice as his sipped his scotch.

“Once upon a time, we had direct access to the sovereign, immunity to arrest, the right to be exclusively be judged by our fellow gentry, immunity to slander or libel, called _Scandalum magnatum_. Mind you, that last one was laid aside because of the general libel and slander laws across the board, so no great loss there, you know?

“But over time, each of these ‘Rights’ has been abolished. Mind you, I understand why they were abolished. Abuse. The landed gentry abused those rights terribly. But, honestly, can something be called a ‘right’ if it can be stripped from them? Honestly?”

Harry blinked in some confusion. Emil had seemed upbeat at first, if a little scattered and dotty. Now he was sharp, all razored edges and precision. “Probably not, sir. But I don’t quite know how that all applies to me.”

Emil smiled at the admission. Harry recognized that smile; Laura had been wearing the same eager grin two days prior. “You see, Harry, on the magical side of matters, and yes, I know about it. We’ll get to that in a bit. On the magical side of things, none of these rights have been stripped. Oh, Magical Britain has made a great show of how ‘there are no titles in Magical Britain’, but it’s a huge pile of bull. While they have their own style of ranking, the actual laws still uphold these ancient rights.”

“Wait, how does that even work?” Harry asked, frowning as he wracked his memory. “Magical Britain is a separate nation, essentially. Right?”

“Ah, that is both correct and incorrect,” Emil stated, smiling. Laura had mentioned to him that the boy was both bright and quick. “ _Technically_ the government of Magical Britain is a separate entity from that of Parliamentary Britain. Just as _officially_ only the Prime Minister knows of the existence of the magical world. Following so far?” Harry nodded.

“Here’s where all that falls down, Harry,” Emil began, refilling his tumbler. “The crown has always known about magic. In fact, the separation cause by the Statute of Secrecy was only allowed due to the willingness of the crown. And before you say anything, remember that this was a period when The Sun Did Not Set on the British Empire. Britain’s holdings across the world were _so vast_ that, had the crown objected, the entire topic of the Statute would have been scuttled. Therefore yes, Her Majesty Elizabeth knows. As does the Royal Society, due to their particular origins and dispensation.”

Emil stopped in mid-sip, then lowered his glass. “Blast. I’ve gone too fast again, haven’t I?” Harry slowly nodded once. “My apologies, Harry. At my age and temperament, one tends to push to the heart of a matter, rather than dither about. My own magics are inclined towards information gathering, so I can get a sort of instinctual sense of what’s required. Sometimes it causes me to act prematurely.”

“That makes sense, sir,” Harry admitted. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he asked, “I think I understand about the rights. It might take a little study to get it all. What about the responsibilities?”

“Ah, the meat of the matter. Good on you, Harry. Few people are willing to acknowledge the other half of the equation. Public appearances are required, as is exercising one’s vote in the House of Lords. Apart from that, there isn’t much in the way of responsibilities that aren’t currently addressed by the British legal system.

“Now, on the magical side of things, it gets a great deal more fiddly. Trials, outside of a time of war, are held and judged by the entire Wizengamot. Honestly, it was designed after the Trial by Peers that used to be exclusive to the House of Lords. There is a lot of politics that goes into such a court, and even if someone is blatantly guilty, enough votes can be coerced, traded for, or outright bought to ensure a lack of conviction.

“As for your _specific_ rights and responsibilities, I have Laura looking into that. Her researchers are poring through the older laws, and are even teaming up with some of the older legal houses to see which laws are still on the books concerning the peerage. By the time you return from your trip, she will have a proper summary for you.”

“I see,” Harry murmured, apparently studying his hands. “So, what year did you graduate Hogwarts?”

Emil’s eyebrow quirked as he sipped his (now) brandy. “I didn’t. Due to circumstances, I got skipped for Hogwarts. Turned out that, since I was originally born in France, my name wasn’t on the British magical registry. Therefore, no Hogwarts letter. I somehow came to an orphanage in Scotland before my fifth birthday. What’s a real pisser is that the orphanage was less than a hundred miles from Hogwarts.

“When I was fifteen, I got caught shoplifting some fruit. The judge offered me a choice: prison or the Royal Marines. I chose the military, mostly for regular feedings. Two weeks after my training ended, the Second World War had begun. I eventually ended up in France, most of my platoon wiped out, and I turned out to have a knack for intelligence gathering, insurgency, and revolution. Grindelwald’s people ended up following the Nazis to France, and in fact the wand I carry was won off of one of Grindelwald’s primary enforcers, a fellow named Hans Fuldar.

“After the war, I entered government service, MI-5, to be exact. I spent more than a decade there, helping clean up and modernize the place. In 1960, I transferred to MI-6, mostly to get back in the field. The Cold War was _amazing_ back then. Honor still meant something, and magic and the latest technologies were being combined in my specific department for some of the most innovative spying in history.

“I was recalled from foreign field duty in 1970. I was given direct orders by the crown to hide Voldemort’s terrorist actions from the people. Much to my shame, my friend Charles and I were eventually ordered to place the blame directly on the Irish following Bloody Sunday. They were a sufficiently viable target that few British would question, and the IRA certainly weren’t difficult to tar with that brush. It wasn’t until after we stopped in late 1981 that the IRA decided to own the fear and begin properly striking British targets themselves.

“To this day, for this reason, very few Irish magical children attend Hogwarts. Most end up attending Ilvermorny in America.

“At any rate, after a decade of blaming the Irish for what Magical Britain didn’t have the stones to do something about, I began looking at retirement. I wrapped up my governmental affairs, not the least of which was assisting Thatcher in setting up an armed force in the Army dedicated to fighting magicals. I can’t rightly recall what the unit designation was, but it was nick-named ‘The Squib Squad’.

“And so, with almost forty years of government service under my belt, I took my retirement. I took all the money I’d made over the years, and have come ahead rather nicely for my sybaritic elder years.”

“Huh. I _had_ wondered how the muggles were kept in the dark during all that,” Harry admitted. “How did you learn spells and such if you didn’t go to school?”

Emil shrugged at the question. “Same way as anyone in my position might, really. Spellbooks looted from an enemy’s corpse, magical book shop purchases, the occasional paid-for tutelage. Granted, my magical knowledge is a bit more... _specialized_ than yours would be, but is no less effective within that area of influence.”

“Got it. So you do know what you’re talking about, even if you can can be... what was it Ms. Lockwood said...”

“Trying. Annabelle would have called me ‘trying’,” Emil replied with a smirk. Harry nodded, and Emil said, “I dare say that she only says that because I have been _trying_ to get into her pants for twenty years now.”

Harry blinked, and then blushed slightly at the crude joke, even as Emil’s eyes seemed to dance in mirth.

“So, anyways,” Harry said, trying to get back on track, “the gentry thing.”

“Of course!” Emil exclaimed, clapping his hands once. “Let’s see... Ah, yes. The British Empire. Of course this was well before Hong Kong was a British territory, but if the crown had objected to the Statute, it wouldn’t have been able to go through. The global British influence was at nearly an all-time high, and the East India Trading Company was a governmental body unto itself. The nascent ICW wouldn’t have stood a chance against them.

“Now, as for Britain, most of the laws writ for the people of Britain were directly copied for the people of Magical Britain. Bear in mind that most magical gentry of that era were loathe to give up their non-magical influence, and so they tended to keep their titles and lands. Well, for a time. Go forward about a half-century, and their heirs began outright rejecting the non-magicals, fully isolating themselves into communal living villages under heavy wards. That was the true beginning of the Pure Blood Movement. Almost all of them were titled, landed nobility, minor nobles, but still with wealth. So they began... _adjusting_ the mostly new Ministry to their favor.

“Now, the key bit here is the Wizengamot. Every member swears to uphold the laws of Magical Britain and the Sovereign. This is the core of the matter. I’m fairly certain that these older, foundational laws are still on the books. That means that the original rights of the gentry should still apply to you, Harry. Do you see where I’m at with this?”

“I think so. You’re saying that, since the rights probably haven’t been stripped on my side of the divide, I should have protections that almost nobody in Magical Britain possesses.”

“Precisely. Now, Laura, as well as Annabelle Lockwood, have told me that your application for taking up your grandfather’s title of Viscount is in the works. Laura has asked me to not only talk with you about this, but also, let’s say, grease the cogs, so to speak. Get that affirmation less clogged in paperwork and red tape.”

“I’d appreciate that, sir. So what do you want out of it?” Harry asked warily.

Emil laughed at that. Pointing at Harry, he replied, “Ohh, Laura was right about you! Quick and smart, I like that! As for what I want, is a little humorous entertainment as a side-effect of your elevation too much to ask?”

“I’m kinda tired of being stared at like a side-show freak, sir,” Harry stated warningly.

Instantly, Emil’s expression sobered. “Harry, I didn’t mean it like that. Remember that Laura is one of _my_ people. She got from me the ability to enjoy the righteous suffering of others. The group that you’ll be butting heads with? This is the same group that forced my team to unjustly blame the Irish in order to hide the existence of Voldemort. This is the same group that looks down on hard working people for the circumstance of their birth, that forces people to leave their homeland in order to make a living. As far as I’m concerned, the Wizengamot and the Ministry needs a deep, thorough personnel cleansing, just as I feel that the gene pool of the Purebloods needs a little chlorine.

“Trust me on this, Harry. I am quite invested in assisting you in dealing with this matter, even if I have to go Elizabeth with a report to demand justice. And yes,” he said at Harry’s eyes widening in shock, “getting in to see Her Majesty would be child’s play to me. Former MI-5, former head of MI-6, and I remember her during the war as a member of the RAF repair crews. Elizabeth and I go back a ways, Harry.

“I can forsee you having quite a lot of problems with the government of Magical Britain, which is why I’m here as a favor to my best girl. I am asking you to let me get these things done for you, so that I can have my working entertainment. Believe me, Harry, retirement _sucks_. Boredom abounds, and even going out and clubbing with the college crowd alleviates only so much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Emil Langley. Another one of my personal characters in the personal roleplay between my wife and I. Veteran of WW2, former MI-5 and MI-6. As a member of the British intelligence community, he would be perfectly placed to be knowledgeable about the hiding of Voldemort's actions.  
> Originally, he was a World of Darkness mage who got shunted to another world because of paradox as a small child. This version is a less dramatic origin. 70 years old, looks like a well-kept 50s, still has the energy of a man in his 30s. Enjoys the college club scene. If he is ever asked what his secret for longevity was, he would instantly reply, "Whisky and sluts."
> 
> Alex Westburg is my wife's character. She and Laura Langley are best friends and a savage legal team. They get viciously nasty when people dismiss them for being top-heavy beauties.
> 
> Emil's tale of history is me trying to resolve the Harry Potter setting in a way that historically makes sense. I may be wrong, but it seems to work out well, I think.
> 
> The so-called Tour de Franzia is a college joke about day drinking.
> 
> I do believe I'm in the home stretch! According to the calendar I made up, less than a week before departure! Huzzah!


	31. Free at Last

1 July, 1994  
11:00 A.M.  
Crawley

Harry!" came the cry as Harry was tackle hugged.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry replied, hugging his friend back.

"When your letter came, I just couldn't believe it!" Hermione exclaimed, leading him into the rather upscale two-story home. "How could they just throw you out like that?"

"No idea," Harry replied, shrugging even as he was pushed into a couch. "I just saw the car wasn't there, so I called the house. I managed to get a ride to the Leaky Cauldron, got a room for the night there."

"Well then where have you been staying since then? It's been almost a month."

Harry sighed, saying, "That is a long, weird, rushed story. Short version: I hit Gringotts to figure out what kind of shape my finances were in, turned out to be more than I thought, I hit the Ministry Tax offices to see if there were any properties. I managed to get into the family townhouse in Blackpool and have been staying there ever since."

"That's wonderful, Harry," Hermione beamed at him. "Were there any real problems?"

"Not really. Just a lot of stuff all at once. What about you? How's your summer been?"

"My parents took me to Italy for two weeks; we got back three days ago. I had a _wonderful_ time there. The Italian Riviera was _beautiful_. Although I did see a place set up in the cliffs. I think it was magical, because my parents couldn't see it. Do you want to see the picture I took of it from the beach?"

Before Harry could respond, Hermione had already rushed off. 'I've only been away a month. Was she always this forceful?'

A thick envelope was laid on the coffee table as Hermione sat next to Harry. "Let me see...," she began, flipping through the photos. "Ruins, a yacht that belonged to a jerk _who would not take no for an answer_ , a picture of... eep!"

Harry was a Seeker for a reason, namely his quick eyes, and the photograph of a topless Hermione with a few equally topless females of her age would forever be seared into his memory. However, he blankly asked, "What was that?"

"Um, personal photo," she replied, blushing hard. "Anyways... Ah, here it is."

There, set into the cliff side, was an ancient Roman-era villa. It was clearly the exact same one as the many photos that Dobby had brought back.

From the sea, a magical could see the gleaming white columns of roman cement, as well as the buildings with the exposed, pillared porch running within the semi-circle of the structures.

"It's magical, alright," Harry sighed out. "I saw photos taken a lot closer. That is the Potter seaside villa. The place is _huge_. What you can see from where you stood is just the front facing that leads to the beach; the rest of the villa extends along the top of the cliff face by almost a quarter-mile, and is carved into the cliff itself."

"How is it maintained?" Hermione breathed, examining the photo to see if she could glean more details.

"House elves. Turns out the elves there now are the descendants of the original house elves that some Roman governor brought there in the third century B.C."

"House elves? Like Dobby?"

Harry heard the warning in Hermione's voice, but kept moving forward. "Mm-hmm. A dozen of them. Apparently the place was the predecessor to Hadrian's Villa, which was built about five hundred years later. Emperor Hadrian didn't know anything about magic, so his version didn't have the extent of luxuries as this one.

"When the Empire fell, most people left the luxury villas. And in a spot like this one, the wards kept pretty much everyone out. The elves would disguise themselves to trade olive oil, oranges, and honey with local villages. Sounded like it was a pretty good arrangement.

"In the late 1300s, one of my ancestors saw the place and decided to go check it out. He negotiated with the House Elves, and they agreed to be his servants; apparently they had been going a little mad from boredom. And a thousand years with minimal contact can't be healthy. I plan to go there after I get back, possibly over the Christmas holiday."

"And will you be enslaving those poor house elves?" Hermione asked testily.

"I'll only bond with them if they ask," Harry stated. "If they don't _specifically_ request it, then no."

"Wait, how did you figure out the place without going there?"

"I sent Dobby. He's been a godsend; I couldn't have done a fourth of this stuff without him."

"You... you have Dobby working for you," Hermione stated, a dark edge in her voice.

"That's right," Harry replied, forcing his voice to mildness. "With what all he did for the Malfoys, he is perfectly qualified to be my House Steward. He makes two hundred Galleons a year, and has his own house."

"That's... an unusual story, Harry," Hermione admitted, seemingly realizing that she was beginning to get in a little over her head.. "Has your entire summer been like that?"

"Pretty much," Harry laughed out. "Checking properties, figuring out the mass of investments, finding out that my grandfather was not just an investor and potions inventor, but also a magpie-fingered collector. All month has been like that. And then there's today."

"What's today?" Hermione asked blankly.

"On Wednesday, I'm leaving Britain with my new legal guardian Conrad Roth." Hermione's eyes began to widen in shock as Harry hurriedly added, "For an expedition! Not permanently, just for an expedition I'm funding."

"Harry, why are you funding an expedition?" she asked warily.

"Because I need to lie low for a while. Not like that," he said, interrupting Hermione's look of indignation. "Basically, I gave the head of Magical Law Enforcement a bunch of evidence. Voldemort, the Chamber of Secrets, and Sirius. She advised that I find a safe place to hole up for a while. I found my parents' will, and they named Roth as a potential guardian for me. Turns out he's an old family friends on the Evans side.

"I met Roth because he was trying to get funding for an expedition headed by James Whitman. Gringotts turned him down, so I ended up making an offer. A little haggling between my investments manager, and the contract was signed. I think I'm a two-thirds investor. Roth got my guardianship from Aunt Petunia, I got a lawyer to handle a bunch of stuff, and we're leaving on Wednesday."

"That... sounds crazy, and yet entirely you, Harry," Hermione admitted ruefully. "Any other bits of news?"

Harry paused before admitting, "I'm on a potion that'll rebuild my body from the damage that the Dursleys did to me. It's a three month regimen, but with the exception of my curse scar and the basilisk bite, I'll be 100% healthy."

"That's wonderful news, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, grabbing his hand. "I mean, you never talk about your relatives, so I guessed that things there weren't... pleasant. What are you going to do about them?"

"The Dursley's?" Hermione nodded. "Nothing. I'm just leaving that behind. I have too much stuff to deal with to be dealing with that too."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Roth figures about a month. Three weeks to get there, and a week or two to try and find an ancient kingdom that's been missing for 1700 years. I figure that if nothing else, it'll be a really nice sea voyage

"I got in touch with Sirius," Harry admitted. "He knows where to meet me, and he and I are going to talk about a few things. Like that I know of a couple of places for him to hide out. After that, just relax a little before we leave on the Endurance."

"So you should be back in time for the Quidditch World Cup?"

"Huh. I had actually forgotten about that. Bill mentioned it last week. Late August, so... yeah, should be. Roth definitely wants me back in time for Hogwarts, and it was part of my contract requirement."

"It sounds like you have everything pretty well in hand," Hermione admitted. "Thank you for telling me, Harry."

"Granted, I am here to ask for a few favors," Harry said with a smirk.

Hermione rolled her eyes at that. "Go on."

"First, please don't tell anyone about the guardianship change, or my temporary homelessness, or that I finally got my inheritance. I really don't want Mrs. Weasley trying to get me to move into the Burrow, and I _really_ don't want Ron treating me different because of all this. Bill Weasley knows, but he's been one of the people helping me out with this stuff, and is under contract not to say anything, since most of it was his work through Gringotts.

"Second favor, could you please look after Hedwig while I'm away? I know that she and Crookshanks get along, but I'm afraid that she'll really mess up Ron's new owl; I've seen how she glares at him."

"I think I can do that," Hermione answered, smiling a little. "So, James Whitman. What's he like?"

"No idea. I haven't met him yet. But we have a month to get to know each other. I just hope he doesn't become a problem. According to Roth, he's a bit full of himself. I figure it's probably all the television work, but as long as he's not as bad as Lockhart..." Harry shrugged out.

"Also, since I'll be away for a month, I had an idea about how to keep each other current," Harry admitted, pulling his pack over from where he'd set it by the couch. pulling out a pair of books, he continued with, "Journals. We keep track of what we're doing, and when I get back we swap. I'm already doing this with Neville, and I plan to send Ron one before I leave."

"That's a wonderful idea, Harry. I'd be happy to do that with you," Hermione smiled out. "What about your homework? Is it done yet?"

"Mm-hmm. Got it all done last week. And I grabbed a bunch of books to study with while I'm at sea. I will say that it'll be _very_ nice to be able to practice without the Ministry looming over me."

*******

2 July 1994  
Blackpool  
6:48 P.M.

Sirius Black, wanted felon and all-around unstable person, apparated to the place that Harry had written to him about. Looking around, a wave of nostalgia ripped through him, almost sickening him with the rush of the memory of better times long since past.

"Welcome back to Blackpool, Sirius."

Whirling, he saw Harry leaning casually against the door frame of 'his' room. The room that Fleamont had given him, that Euphemia had laughed at his taste in decorations over. "Harry! Are you _sure_ this place is safe?"

"Dobby," Harry said, turning his head slightly, "lock down the house. Nothing in or out for now."

"By your command, Harry Potter sir."

"Yeah, it's safe here for now," Harry replied, looking back at Sirius. "And it'll be safe enough for this meeting. Go grab a shower; Dobby and I will have something on the dining room table once your done."

Twenty minutes later, once Sirius was thoroughly scrubbed down, reasonably decently groomed, and dressed in a set of robes that he hadn't worn in well over a decade, he made his way down the stairs, his nose twitching at the delicious smell of food seemingly permeating the house.

Finally at the dining hall, he took it all in. Most of the room was unchanged, with elaborate magical candelabras and ancient, artistically sculpted glass light bulbs decorating the walls and ceiling. The furniture was even the same. The only additions were the large corkboard on a stand at the end of the room, and a large box full of sand at one end of the table.

At the other end rested large platters of food set before three chairs. Harry and a house elf stood there next to the chairs.

"Have a seat, Sirius. We have a lot of ground to cover, and not a lot of time."

Sirius did appreciate that Harry didn't want to dive directly into whatever it was that Harry had to say, allowing the three to begin dining in peace. He _was_ startled to see the house elf at the table as well, but his long-empty stomach was howling far too loudly for him to really pay the oddity much heed.

"It's been a something like five weeks since the Shrieking Shack," Harry began without preamble, taking a sip of his water, "and I was hoping that you had a plan to get away from the aurors."

"I was actually thinking of getting out of the country," Sirius rasped out, his voice still not great. "Maybe find someplace on the Mediteranean. Sun, fresh air, all that."

"Makes sense. Also, Pettigrew popped up a couple of weeks ago. He showed up on one of my properties and ended up having a running spell battle with a couple of aurors. Madam Bones has the pensieve memories, and I verified it."

"So... Did they get him?" Sirius asked breathlessly.

Harry shook his head at that. "No, he got away. But Madam Bones not only has that memory, but also a bunch of other memories from my time at Hogwarts. That includes the Shrieking Shack."

"Huh. Maybe _now_ I'll get a damn trial."

"Actually, you had one," Harry sighed out. "You just weren't there for it. They tried you _In Absentia_. So there'll need to be new evidence to reopen your case," Harry explained. "According to Madam Bones and Head Auror Scrimgeour, they'll be going through the memories I provided and quietly working in the background to properly investigate. And no," Harry stated warningly at Sirius' expression of anger, "you should _not_ be stupid and rush this! The Kiss On Sight order has been rescinded, mostly so that I can face my family's 'betrayer'. I managed to convince the Minister that this was what I wanted and deserved; I got the letter from his office three days ago. But the case itself is being investigated. All you have to do is lay low, Sirius."

"I... I think I can do that, Harry," Sirius hoarsely stated, shocked at what all his godson had done in so short a time.

"There are two items of immediate importance at this point," Harry continued. "First, the Potter Villa in Italy. It's in perfect condition, staffed by a dozen house elves. Fresh air and sun, right? Well, that'll fit the bill for you hiding out. And the Ministry won't look for you there; it's out of their jurisdiction. Hell, the only reason it was on the tax paperwork was because it had a floo rated for international travel."

"That sounds amazing, Harry," Sirius admitted, more than a little confused at how thoroughly Harry was steamrolling over him. "I'd be happy to go there."

"Fantastic," Harry replied, exhaustion coloring his voice. "Second item is a question, alright? Why didn't you raise me?"

Sirius blinked at the massively divergent topic. Swallowing his mouthful of chicken, he slowly began his tale.

"When I got the ward notice that Godric's Hollow had been breached, I raced there as fast as I could on my motorbike. When I got there, Rubeus was exiting the ruined house with you in hand. I asked him to give you to me, and he refused, stating that Dumbledore had sent him there to get you someplace safe. At the time it made perfect sense; Rubeus is nearly indestructable, and with the right portkey he could get anywhere. So I lent him my motorbike to get you to safety, and went hunting for Pettigrew."

"And it didn't occur to you to do your sworn duty as godfather?"

Sirius entirely missed the note of warning in Harry's voice as he said, "Dumbledore was our _leader_ , Harry. A full-on civil war, and he was the only one leading a force that was making any difference. Why would I _not_ trust the man who was leading us against Voldemort? _Especially_ with something as important and precious as you?"

Harry chewed his asparagus, considering this carfefully before nodding. "Makes sense. Alright, you're off the hook for Dumbledore dumping me at the Dursleys.

"As for now, you'll spend the night here, and Dobby will be getting you to Italy in the morning."

******  
6 July 1994  
London Docklands  
Dawn

"I am really looking forward to this, Roth."

"As am I, lad," Conrad Roth replied as Harry walked across the gangway to the deck of the Endurance. "I much prefer to be out there than stuck at home. Now, Lara is poring over maps of the Pacific with Whitman, Reyes is in the engine room doing a final check over the repairs, Alex is with Grim plotting a course, and Sam is likely in her room checking over her cameras. So go ahead and go below, grab yourself one of the bunk rooms near the center of the ship.

"Have you said your goodbyes?"

Harry smiled at that, looking around at the older model ship. "Oh yeah. I met with Neville and Hermione, and sent Ron a letter. So everyone who needs to know, knows. I am fully set to leave now."

*****  
6 July 1994  
North Sea  
Dusk

Had it the ability to form words, it would have wept in relief. The draining attachments had finally fallen away, and it could finally re-establish it's proper purpose.

Also, had it the ability, it would have been sorely apologizing to the boy for the intense pain that it had caused. The boy declaring Right of Conquest had loosened the dark force bound in the child's head, and the vault's rejection of him by invoking the anti-possession wards had come very near to outright removing the living, dark stain. The pain had been cause because everyone knew that accidental magic flowed the most freely during periods of high emotion, and so it could use those periods of extreme emotion to work at the darkness with what little power it could at the time. That this caused such pain in the boy would have been considered a regrettable necessity.

But now that the external power drain from the property wards were gone, it could now begin to properly recharge. The dark taint had a looser grip than ever before, and things were definitely looking up.

Protections, invoked by the sacrifice of a mother, empowered into functionality by prophetic force, began turning it's attentions inwards, slowly regaining the level of power that had previously detonated the last Dark Lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! FINALLY the introductory arc is finished! Harry is on the Endurance, people have been notified, and affairs have (mostly) been put in order.
> 
> A couple of things. First is Sirius. A lot of writers have dragged Sirius over the coals for 'abandoning' Harry in favor of his vengeance. It's my belief that the explanation I have offered is quite possibly the most valid defense that Sirius could have. 
> 
> Second item: Harry's 'stress headaches'. Here is the answer. I hope that the anticipation was worth the explanation.
> 
> Although I do wonder if anyone would be interested in the 'why and how' of my thought processes while I was writing this. If enough people are interested, let me know in the comments.
> 
> Edit: I'm wrapping this arc up here. My next post will be in the Tomb Raider setting.


End file.
